


Fortunate Son

by WriterGirl128



Series: The Long Way Home [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brogane is real, Coping, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Galra Keith (Voltron), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Like glacial pace please be patient, M/M, Paladins, Past Abuse, Post-Season 5, Team as Family, implied thoughts of suicide, slow burn keith/lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 20:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 61,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13865052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterGirl128/pseuds/WriterGirl128
Summary: He was running away from his problems. He knew that. And he felt bad about lying to the team, but he'd tell them eventually. He just needed to work up to it - needed to calm his nerves, needed to catch his breath. And then he'd tell them. And then he'd be ready to face her.Or following the events of s05, a furious and confused Keith finds himself retreating to the safety of the Castle, of his friends, to try and clear his head.***CANON DIVERGENT AFTER S05***





	1. The Return

**Author's Note:**

> MY BOY KEITH FOUND HIS MOTHER. And I needed all of the angst, so here we go. Basically the Paladins just love Keith a lot and miss him, and there was NO INTERACTION between them in s05 and I'm bitter as hell so I'm writing family fluff/angst to put a band-aid on the gaping hole in my soul please enjoy
> 
> If you're here for the klance, it's gonna be a slow-as-molasses slow burn, so please stick around! 
> 
> *Perspective will change depending on the chapter, so make sure to check the notes at the beginning of each chapter to see who's head we're poking around in*
> 
> ***KEITH'S POV***

He should’ve been happy.

He should’ve been happy that the mission was a success. He should’ve been happy that he’d gotten out, that they’d both gotten away from the enemy forces relatively unscathed. That being double crossed hadn’t resulted in something catastrophic.

He should’ve been happy when his fingers curled around the hilt of his Blade— _her Blade—_ when she handed it back to him. He should’ve been happy seeing the set of her jaw and the shape of her eyes, features familiar to him in a way that made his chest ache like he couldn’t put words to.

He should’ve been happy, when his mind replayed the words she’d said: _“I left you once. I’ll never leave you again.”_ He should’ve been happy that he found her, after all this time, out of all the places in the universe she could’ve been.

He should’ve been happy, but instead he saw red.

Keith didn’t _want_ to be angry with her. He really didn’t. Because some part of him—the part of him that will always be a Paladin, regardless of how many missions he goes on with the Blade—understood what Krolia did on a very real level. A very _practical_ level. They were at war, and she wanted to protect him in whatever way she could. He _got_ that. He knew the importance of keeping people safe, even if it meant making some hard decisions in order to do that. No one understood that more than he did. And she had a duty to the universe, a job to do, and a baby on her hip would’ve _vastly_ hindered her ability to do that job. He got it. He really did.

Still, there was an uncomfortable warmth flushing his face, and his heart hammered loudly in his ears, and his fingers were tightened into quivering fists as he turned on his heel and stalked away from her the moment their ship landed.

 _She abandoned you,_ some voice in his head seemed to snarl, and he couldn’t breathe. _She left you alone. She didn’t tell you who you are, or what you are, and she left you to figure it out yourself. She abandoned you on a planet you don’t belong to, and she left you alone_ _. All alone_.

His heart lurched at the thought. She hadn’t even left a note—just this bizarre, purple knife that nearly got him killed, and some pretty deep-seated abandonment issues.

He’d only checked in with Kolivan briefly after the mission, before heading out to clear his head. The interaction was probably a little less professional than it should’ve been, a little more _telling_ than _requesting permission,_ but there was a war in his chest and in his head, and he couldn’t breathe, and he needed to get out of there. Needed to _think_. He’d deal with the consequences later.

He didn’t realize where he was going until he was landing his borrowed Marmorian flyer, the Castle of Lions breaking the horizon in front of him.

He hesitated, hands tightening around the controls. He shouldn’t be here, he knew, he didn’t _belong_ here anymore. He’d made that choice. He’d walked away from the team, from Voltron, and they’d _said_ that they understood but… no one could be that forgiving. He should know. He’s had plenty of experience with people walking away, and it was never that easy. Case in point.

Before he could power the ship back up, fly away and disappear into the atmosphere without a trace, a light on his dash started blinking, flashing. An incoming transmission. He sighed, plans of retreat fading away as he flicked a small switch and a video feed crackled to life, projected onto the windshield in front of him.

Allura and Shiro’s faces filled the image, and Keith could see Pidge, Hunk and Lance further back in the bridge, in formation. “Hi, Shiro—hi, Allura.”

Shiro looked… far more concerned than Keith was comfortable with, like he was awaiting bad news. “Kolivan? Is everything alright?”

Keith blinked for a tick, confused, before remembering. “Oh. Right.” He let the mask fade from his face, offering something as close to a smile as he could muster. “Sorry.”

_“Keith!”_

Without a breath, his friends’ faces filled the projection, and Keith’s forced smile turned genuine as he caught the excitement in their eyes, professional air broken as they crowded together, pressing close to try and get a better look at him.

“Haven’t heard from you in forever, buddy!” Hunk whooped, and honest-to-God, it looked like there might be tears forming in his eyes. “What’s the occasion?”

Keith’s resolve wavered, a pang of guilt in his chest. He _hadn’t_ caught up with the team, in a while, he knew, he just… hadn’t realized it had gotten to the point where they needed an _occasion_ to see each other. He especially didn’t want them to think something monumental had to be happening in order for him to get in contact with them—

—and, quiznak, that’s exactly what was happening, wasn’t it?

He forced his smile a little bit more, hoping to cover up the unsteadiness he felt. “No occasion,” he assured with a shrug. “Just got back from a mission and I had a bit of down time, so I figured I’d come by.” He remembered their grim faces from before, though, and something tightened in his chest, because, _wow._  He hadn’t even thought about whether or not they’d be too busy, in the midst of a war, and all.

Then again, he hadn’t exactly planned on landing on their doorstep either, so. There’s that.

He winced slightly. “Are you—are you busy?”

And though they were all present and vying for space on the screen, it was Shiro, who had stepped back slightly to allow the other paladins space, that smiled warmly at him. “Never too busy for you, kid. Come on up—we’re in the bridge.”

Keith’s smile grew, just a fraction, and he tilted his head into a nod dutifully. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

Walking through the Castle had an undeniable _calming_ effect on him. It didn’t feel like his head was pounding, anymore, like he was about to blow his top at the slightest thought of her. In fact, as he walked through the halls and up to the bridge, he almost felt _sorry,_ that he’d been so angry, that his head had spun so much, that he’d treated her that way. After she just saved his life. For a second time.

But the Castle was familiar. The almost too-clean, museum-esque vibe it had, high-tech and full of all this incredible equipment, but so much more than that. It was the place where they’d had a food fight, that first week, when they tried so hard to form Voltron and _couldn’t_ because they weren’t a team, quite yet. The place where they trained, where they worked, where they improved. The place that took their blood, sweat, and tears in stride and turned them around to make them _better—_ better soldiers, better teammates, better _people._ It was the place where they slept, where they let their guard down and could be _vulnerable,_ a home in every sense of the word. Their magical, flying, spaceship of a home.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed those walls.

He’d barely crossed the threshold of the bridge when he was being barreled over—first by Pidge who, despite her size, was agile and solid, coming at him straight on and ramming into him while throwing her arms around his waist. Then Hunk was there, tall and wide, strong arms lifting both him and Pidge as he spun them around, crowing his name. The second his feet hit the floor again, Lance was pinned to his back, clinging to him like a koala with no intention of letting go.

For a moment, he forgot about Krolia. He forgot the turmoil he’d felt, the warring pains in his chest, the confusion and the doubt and the anger. Because Pidge’s shoulders were shaking slightly against him, and Hunk’s fingers grasped at his arms like they weren’t sure they’d ever be able to again, and Lance bent his neck to rest his head on Keith’s shoulder as he breathed slowly, controlled, like he wanted to savor every second of the moment.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his _friends._

And he let the moment stretch on for a tick or ten longer than he normally would’ve, returning the gesture as much as he could with arms that had been pinned to him and free range of motion in only one elbow. Still. The sentiment was there.

Finally they drew back, and though Pidge wasn’t the only one sniffling slightly, they silently agreed not to talk about it. No longer constrained to the bone-crushing grasp of his former teammates, Keith noticed Allura and Shiro standing close by with smiles of their own. Keith was a little surprised when Allura stepped forward first to greet him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him in close. A warm gesture that immediately brought something inside Keith to ease, something he hadn’t realized had been coiled and nervous, and he was grateful for that.

When the embrace broke, he turned to Shiro, who had narrowed his eyes at him. “You never call, you never write,” Shiro said, like a sigh, but there was a smile on his lips still, and Keith felt his own smile growing a bit. “Then you just show up, unannounced, and make my team cry. What’s the matter with you?”

Keith chuckled a little as Shiro pulled him into a hug, gripping the paladin. “You want a list? I could probably make you a list.”

“Ooh,” Lance hummed from behind them, as they broke apart, “start with the mullet. Seriously, dude. Gotta get a haircut.”

Keith turned his head slightly to look at him. Despite the jab, there was something fond in Lance’s eyes, something that Keith relished in. “Hey, Lance?”

The Blue-turned-Red Paladin stood up a little straighter. “Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

The corner of Lance’s mouth twitched into a smile, but he gave a dutiful two-fingered salute. “Copy that.”

Keith’s smile lingered as he glanced around the bridge. Nothing had changed, really, except for the fact that Matt was there, lounging in Pidge’s chair, typing away with his eyes glued to a string of commands on the screen in front of him. It was weird, to see him like this—in person, alive and well, working. Not just in some headshot in the news, headlined with big block letters that read: **DISASTER STRIKES AT THE KERBEROS MISSION.**

He’d spent so long, staring at those articles. Newspaper after newspaper, clippings and photos and headlines tacked to a corkboard in his shack. Searching and hoping and failing to put together the clues, the hints, so focused on finding Shiro that he’d gone a little stir-crazy with it. Until he let himself stop, and breathe, and _feel_ that pull of the desert that he knew now was Blue’s doing. Calling him to action.

His smiled flickered a little when he noticed the files strewn around the room, the screens full of data and maps and security programs. Again, he remembered their solemn expressions when he’d first called, as if waiting for the final shoe to drop.  He glanced at his former teammates again, wincing. “Am I interrupting something?”

Pidge smiled a little and offered a small shake of her head. “No, not really. Just—the Castle took… quite a beating, earlier. We’re just trying to make sure the oxygen regulators are up and functional, again.”

He blinked, eyes widening. “What do you mean, _again?_ They weren’t functional?”

There was a gleam of excitement in her eyes as she grabbed his arm, tugging him over to the main screen and nodding to what seemed like a… big, white smear?

“We found a _white hole,”_ she informed him, and there was something akin to awe in her voice. “A white hole, Keith! It was emitting these _massive_ waves of energy, just out of nowhere at all, and Allura and Lotor went in and there was a _White Lion._ The radiation coming off of it was crazy! It was just _so fascinating.”_

Joining them at the center, Lance let out a snort. “Yeah, if losing all power in the Castle, the Lions, the generators and the backup generators is _fascinating,_ I guess you’re right.”

Worry tightened in his chest. It was odd, too, because usually—usually when they got themselves into a mess like that, Keith was _there._ He was present, he was a part of it, a part of the solution, able to make some contribution in order to keep his team _safe._ Hearing about it secondhand, after the fact, when, if God forbid things had turned tumultuous, he would’ve been helpless to do anything to stop it? It wasn’t a nice feeling. It wasn’t something he ever wanted to get _comfortable_ with.

Still, Pidge just rolled her eyes at Lance’s jibe, unconcerned. “You just don’t appreciate what an incredible scientific anomaly it was.”

“Wasn’t _science,_ Pidge,” Lance corrected, wiggling his eyebrows a little. “It was _magic._ Or, alchemy. Whatever. Same thing.”

Keith blinked, glancing back at Shiro, who had nothing more to offer than a small shrug, a wry smile twisted on his lips.

He exhaled a long breath, peering at the screen again. Despite how he tried, he couldn’t make sense of the algorithms in the margins, couldn’t decipher the chicken scratch annotations that had been made. He nodded. “Alright,” he huffed, raising his eyebrows as he turned to face them again. “White holes. What else have I missed?”

There was a beat of silence before Lance spoke up. “We killed Zarkon?”

“Technically _Lotor_ killed Zarkon,” Hunk corrected him, and Keith didn’t miss the way Lance’s eyes cut to him sharply in a glare. Hunk offered a small smile, nudging Keith with his elbow. “Lance doesn’t like Lotor much since he started, y’know…” He lowered his voice a little, so only Keith could hear him. “Making _moves_ on Allura, if you catch my drift.”

Keith’s eyebrows shot up, though something heavy settled in his stomach at the thought. “Right,” he acknowledged, ignoring the piercing glare from Lance that was now directed towards him. “Lotor’s a part of this, now. Is he—is he here, now?”

Hunk shook his head, and his voice was a normal volume again when he replied. “Nah. Had to go to one of the main Galra cruisers to do some—I don’t know. Emperor things. Or something.” He waved his hand dismissively. “He’s trying to convert the Empire into being, you know—not terrible, anymore? Not sure how it’s working, though. There are a lot of Galra that refuse to pledge their loyalty to him, still believe in Zarkon and his plans and his mentality.”

Keith nodded again, his stomach still twisted. “Right.”

“You really should meet him, Keith,” Pidge piped in, though there was something tentative in her eyes, something soft. “He’s only—he’s only part Galra, too.”

Well. That was news. “Yeah?”

Pidge nodded, and a smile touched her lips again. “He _shows it_ a bit more, you know, than you do—”

“—meaning he’s purple—”

“—but, yeah.” Pidge shot Lance a glare for interrupting, before regarding Keith again from over the brim of her glasses. “Half Altean, actually. I was really skeptical of him at first, but he’s… he’s not bad. You know, for being the son of the literal worst dude in the universe, and all.”

Keith smiled a little again, though there was still that heaviness in his gut that he couldn’t lighten. His chest felt tight, with it, and he mentally reinforced those walls behind which he’d shoved everything that had happened. His mission. Krolia. His anger, his frustration, his confusion. Everything that sent his mind spiraling in doubt and shame and hurt.

Seeing his friends was good. That’s what he was there for. There was no occasion, nothing particularly extraordinary going on that drove him here. If he kept telling himself that, he’d be okay.

He brought his gaze back to the image on the screen, though he couldn’t really focus his eyes on it.

Behind him, Shiro spoke up. “How about you, Keith? How is everything?”

 _Everything is… everything,_ he thought to himself. _Everything is confusing and awful and I have so many questions, and I can’t face the only person that can answer them because I’ll either end up punching her in the face or throwing up on her shoes, neither of which is how mother-son reunions ought to go, I don’t think, and everything is confusing and wrong._

“Everything’s good,” he said easily, with a nod. “Tracked down what we think might be the source of that new form of quintessence. Kolivan’s having people look into it further.”

“He didn’t assign you to the mission?” Allura asked, and her eyebrows were drawn together over concerned eyes. “Last I heard, the Blade was running thin on agents and was pulling them from projects already under commencement. You didn’t—” She broke off, sending him one of her patent-pending _disapproving-Princess_ looks, her eyes narrowed slightly. “You got permission to leave the Base, I’m hoping, before just taking off and showing up here?”

 _Permission_ was a bit of a stretch, but Allura didn’t need to know that. “Yes, Princess. Relax.”

“Because the last thing we need right now is a swarm of Blade agents drawing attention to our location in an attempt to find you after you disappeared off their radar.”

“Which,” Lance piped up, “is something you tend to do, Mullet. You have a bad habit of going AWOL at the worst possible times ever.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I didn’t go AWOL on the Blade, Allura, I promise. There won’t be any search parties to give away your location.”

Allura pressed her lips together for a tick as if testing the temperature of the words, the truthfulness, before offering him a slight nod and a small smile. “Well, then—I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say that you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. The Castle of Lions will always be a home to the Paladins of Voltron, past or present.”

Something warm filled his chest, and it wasn’t the twitchy, unstable warmth he’d felt earlier in his anger, in his frustration. It was the kind of warmth that he wanted to hold on to. Not the kind of warmth that made him want to put his fist through the wall. He returned her smile, and gave her a grateful nod. “Thank you,” he said honestly, but there was still that weight in his stomach, that tightness in his lungs, and he let out a small sigh. “I appreciate it. But I don’t think I can stay long.”

“No, but— _Keith.”_ It was Lance again, voice tinged with a whine that sounded too-forced as he slung an arm over Keith’s shoulders. “Buddy. Pal. Amigo. You _gotta_ stay, for at least a little bit. A day cycle or two.” And while the words themselves were light, teasing, there was something very real in his voice, something pleading and genuine.

“Yeah, come on,” Pidge agreed, and turned to him with her big, light brown eyes. “Please, Keith? We—” She broke off, inhaling sharply, and Keith couldn’t help but notice her eyes were still ringed with a hint of red from when he’d first crossed into the bridge. “We really miss you, is all.”

Keith hesitated, but his heart lurched for them. He wanted to stay. He really did. But he had run out on Kolivan so quickly, and that alone was bound to have some consequences, let alone if he really _did_ go AWOL for a few days. He shifted, squirming under Lance’s arm, which was still around his shoulders.

“I miss you guys too,” he assured them, and his voice was low and a little unsteady, but brimmed with sincerity. Because he did miss them. He hadn’t realized the extent of it, the vastness of that longing, until he’d arrived and had nearly been tackled to the ground, but it was there. In the midst of all the chaos twisting in his chest because of everything with his mother, his friends were something steady for him to hold on to. Still, he forced the words out, reluctantly. “I just—I’m not sure it’s a great idea. Kolivan—”

“—gave you some down time, you said,” Hunk cut him off, his eyes a little pleading as well. And while it wasn’t a _total_ lie, Keith felt a jab of guilt in his gut for stretching the truth of the matter, so much. Because Kolivan hadn’t exactly _given_ him down time, it was more like Keith just… took it. He told Kolivan he needed to clear his head, had indirectly indicated he was going to borrow a Marmorian fighter jet, and… had essentially walked out, after that. Not really what he’d call _permission,_ but Kolivan hadn’t sent guards out after him to hunt him down and bring him back, either, so Keith took it as a begrudging win.

Because Kolivan knew, the whole time, who Krolia was. He’d warned Keith not to let emotions cloud his judgement during the mission _specifically because_ he knew who she was. And he didn’t. He followed protocol while on the mission down to the T. He did everything by the book, carried out his job in precisely the way Kolivan had told him to. He ignored the ache in his chest and the hurricane of thoughts in his head and got the job done.

After the mission was over? It was a bit harder to ignore. So he left. He hoped Kolivan understood, on some level, that it was something he needed to do.

Keith shook his head. “Guys, I don’t know.”

Shiro gave him a small smile, though there was disappointment in his eyes as if he, too, was hoping Keith could stay for a while. He shook his head, forever the dutiful leader making the hard calls, even if it wasn’t what he wanted. “We understand,” he assured Keith, though the words didn’t help at all. In fact, they made Keith feel _worse,_ especially when Shiro sighed and turned to the rest of the team and said sternly, “Guys, lay off. If he says he can’t stay, then we have to respect that.”

And they looked heartbroken. Keith wondered if he looked a little heartbroken, too. He sure felt it.

Shiro came closer to him, closing the distance, and placed his hands on his arms, fingers tight but eyes softened. Keith’s eyes followed his armour, white and black and so different from the uniform Keith was wearing, these days. “Hey.” It took Keith a minute to lift his gaze to Shiro’s again, but when he did, he was granted another smile while fingers, metal and flesh alike, tightened on his arms. “Come back, though. Okay? Whenever you can.”

And he was about to respond, about to assure him with a confident, “Of course.” But he didn’t. Because the words were frozen somewhere in his throat, and he remembered a long time ago, over a decade ago, when his father had promised to come back and never did.

He was just going to get the mail. He’d come right back, Keith shouldn’t worry.

And then he was gone. And his mother was gone. And he was alone.

But she was _back,_ now, impossibly, and she… she wanted to _know_ him. That had been abundantly clear, in the few words they’d exchanged on the flight back to Base. Because she said things like “I’ll never leave you again” and “You look so much like your father” and “It’s the thing I regret the most, in my life.”

But he wasn’t _ready_ for that. He wasn’t equipped to handle something like that, not yet. And he was _angry_ with her. Furious. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been quite as angry at anyone, before, except maybe his father, and Zarkon. But he was also sad. And he felt for her because he’d had to leave his family, too, to join up with the Blade, and it was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. But he understood her. He _got_ it. And it clashed with his anger, and it made something press heavily down on his lungs, made something churn in his stomach, made his heart beat too fast in his chest. He wasn’t ready.

He’d have to face the music eventually, he knew. He’d have to return to the Base, have to face her, and Kolivan, and he’d have to _talk_ about things, which he’s never been particularly good at, and he’s going to have to stare the consequences of his actions in the face and accept them as they came. But he wasn’t ready for that. Not quite yet.

And maybe that made him a coward, but he didn’t care. Because here he was, surrounded by people he _knew_ cared about him, people that supported him through the weirdest and the worst and the best days of his life. His family. He’d found his family, finally, and even if he wasn’t ready to tell them just yet that he’d found Krolia, there was something soothing and comforting about just being there, with them, in the Castle. Something familiar and warm and reassuring that ebbed away at his anger and made it a little easier to breathe.

So he just smiled at Shiro and ducked his head slightly, sighing. “On second thought…”

He didn’t even need to finish before Pidge’s eyes brightened, Lance’s arm tightening from where it had found a home around his shoulders, Hunk’s face splitting into this wide grin. Even Shiro’s normally unreadable mask broke into something fond while over his shoulder, Allura gave him a small, understanding smile.

“…maybe I will stay,” he finished, and Pidge snaked her arms around his waist again, and his heart felt a little lighter. “Just for a bit. A few cycles at most.”

He was running away from his problems. He knew that. And he felt bad about lying to his team. But he’d tell them, eventually, he just needed to work up to it. Needed to calm his nerves, needed to catch his breath. And then he’d tell them. And then he’d be ready to face her.

Krolia. After eighteen years of searching, agonizing, eighteen years of wondering, this… wasn’t exactly one of the thousands of ways he’d imagined finding his mother would play out.

Then again, he never imagined she’d be an alien, either, or that he’d be _half_ alien. Or that he’d be working with a secret intergalactic resistance organization, fighting a war that spanned to every edge of the universe.

He still hadn’t shaken Lance’s arm from his shoulders. Instead, he leaned into it a little, into the comfort and the warmth that it offered, wrapping his own arms around Pidge, who still clung to him tightly. There were whoops of joy from Hunk, and Shiro was grinning, and Allura was trying and failing at taming her own grin into something more poised.

Some of the tightness in Keith’s chest uncoiled, and he took a big breath. And another. Slow, and deep, and strong.

It felt good to breathe again, if only for a little while.


	2. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance struggles to find his balance with his new broadsword, and Keith reunites with an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reception from the first chapter was? So good??? Thanks so much, I'm so happy people are enjoying this. 
> 
> Longer author's notes at the end. Spoilers for s05, I own nothing.
> 
> I'M SO PROUD OF MY BOY LANCE AND HIS FANCY ALTEAN BROADSWORD OKAY
> 
> ***LANCE'S POV***

Lance was surrounded.

His heart was hammering in his chest and he mentally kicked himself, not for the first time, for not being more prepared.  _Be ready for anything._ Isn’t that what Shiro always said, what Allura tried to ingrain into them with drill after drill, calling them from bed at ungodly hours just to see how long it would take for them to suit up in case of an emergency? Sure, nine times out of ten he ended up sleeping _through_ those drills, but—still. The sentiment was there. He still understood the _point,_ still understood the fact that they needed to be prepared at all times.

And yet here he was, surrounded by a half-dozen sentries with no helmet, no armour, and no backup. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his broadsword, but his hands were getting clammy, and the sweat was making his grip slick and unsteady. Unreliable. Like it could be knocked from his hands at any moment.

The sword was cool, for sure, but it was moments like this when he really missed his rifle.

He just… wasn’t comfortable _,_ with the sword yet. Not entirely. Sure, there would be waves that wash over him where it feels like the most natural thing in the world to wield, where it feels _right,_ where he feels _unstoppable._ But it was always fleeting. Maybe it was an adrenaline thing, or maybe it was a heat-of-the-moment type deal, he wasn’t sure. All he knew is that sometimes he felt invincible with it, and other times he felt like a sitting duflax.

This time? Definitely more the latter.

He could feel how wide his eyes were as they flicked from sentry to sentry, all cold and robotic indifference to the little damage Lance had done to them. Creeping closer, minimizing the distance between them and their target. Lance’s heart sped up.

He quickly dodged a blast from a sentry to his right, leaping to the side and managing to pull the sword through the air at just the right angle to slice the arm cleanly off one of the other robots. It clattered to the floor loudly as he landed in a roll, narrowly avoiding a second, larger blast shot towards him.

He tightened his grip again, spinning on his heel as another sentry grabbed at him with metal hooks-for-hands, and those, too, came off with a clean swipe of his sword. He used his knee to push the robot back before plunging his bayard through its chest panel, a shower of sparks bursting free. The purplish light faded from its joints and plates, and the sentry halted, falling frozen in the chaos.

One down, five to go.

He pulled his sword free with a grunt, the inactive robot falling backwards, but before Lance could spin to face the others there was a sharp, hot pain in his side. He brought a hand to it, stumbling slightly, and kicked himself mentally again for not wearing his armour, because— _quiznak,_ that hurt.

He let out a sharp exhale in pain before turning, only to be staring dead-on at a still-smoking blaster. He ducked quickly as it fired again, bringing his sword around his front in an attempt to get at the sentry’s legs. But the sentry was fast, too, as were the others, and one of them managed to kick a metal foot into Lance’s gut— _why why why_ why _wasn’t he wearing his armour—_ at the same time that another brought the butt of its blaster to impact solidly with his temple.

His head rattled, his vision tilting, but he managed to push himself to his feet and stumble a few paces away. He needed to gather himself, and he needed to do it _quickly._ His breath came to him in pained, shallow pants.

There was only a tick or two before more blasts were being shot at him, in quick succession, and despite the throbbing pain in his head that was nearly blinding him, he managed to swerve around them, stepping and side-stepping and leaping and ducking. Finally he got close enough again to wrap both hands around the hilt of the sword and swing it forward, chopping not one, not two, but _three_ sentry heads clean off.

Their metal bodies fell to the floor with a clamor that seemed to pierce his eardrums, and he winced, closing his eyes and ducking his head against the noise. _Dios,_ that certainly didn’t help his budding headache, that’s for damn sure.

Before he knew it, before he could catch his breath and blink that black stars from his vision, there was something metal swinging at his knees, and he was crumbling to the floor. His broadsword was knocked free from his hands and he watched helplessly as it slid across the room, coming to a halt far too far away and reverting back to its original shape.

Lance’s heart was still hammering in his chest and his breath was ragged, but when he looked up, eye-to-barrel with one of the remaining sentry’s blasters, his voice was loud and clear when he called, “End simulation! _End simulation!”_

And everything froze.

A few ticks of near-silence passed, perforated only by Lance’s ragged, uneven gasps for air. The blaster leveled at his skull lowered, the sentry holding it slowly powering down, pinkish-purple light flickering weakly.  The sentry that had pinned him to the floor with a foot to his back froze as well, and Lance’s hands barely made it to cover his ears before they both toppled over to the floor with a _clash._ Like a jackhammer down a cymbal line.

Lance’s face screwed up momentarily, in pain or frustration he wasn’t sure. Either way, he lifted his gaze only far enough to glare at the bayard across the room.

“Stupid sword,” he muttered lowly, pushing himself to his feet. There was a pinch in his side where he’d been hit by one of their blasters, and a little prodding predicted a serious bruise come tomorrow, but no serious damage. “Stupid Lotor with his stupid sentry simulations and his stupid generosity. _Que hijo de puta._ ”

He crossed the room, still glaring at the bayard as he did. He still didn’t _understand._ Allura had said the broadsword had belonged to a great Altean leader, and that he should be honored that it chose him. That he had greatness within. But if he was so great, how come he couldn’t use it, properly? If it chose him to wield it, how come he was still so _bad at it?_ He never had these types of problems with his rifle. In fact, with the rifle, he was in his element. His prime. _Sharpshooter_. He’d finally earned the title, but now?

Now it didn’t even matter.

His glare melted and he sighed, crouching down to retrieve the bayard sullenly. It had made a mistake. It was the bayard of the Red Paladin—the sword should’ve belonged to Keith. It should’ve chosen _Keith._ He was the swordsman, the warrior. Not Lance.

He straightened up again, the pounding in his head receding slightly. Keith _. Keith fucking Kogane._

It was a surprise, when he’d shown up outside the castle-ship. The team, forever on high-alert for bad news from the Blade, had only suspected the worst when that black and purple mask filled their transmission screen. When it had faded away and revealed not Kolivan, but _Keith?_ Something, some childlike giddiness, had washed over them all, washed over Lance so strongly that he didn’t even have it in him to throw sarcastic words and taunting jibes at him. He was just happy Keith was _there._ In the flesh, after what felt like eons of radio silence. Whole and unharmed.

He winced again against the pain in his side as he returned to the center circle of the training deck. He should’ve been wearing his armour, he knew, but Keith’s arrival was the perfect excuse. Because if there’s anyone that brought out his competitiveness, could draw out his intensity and longing to prove something of himself, it was Keith. The bastard. Showing up out of the blue, giving Lance some kind of drive to… impress him? Quiznak, what _was_ that?

What did he have to prove to Keith? Why did he feel like he had to prove something at all? What did he have to _gain,_ by not wearing his armour, other than aches and pains and bruises and scrapes? Unless it wasn’t Keith, at all, he wanted to prove something to. Maybe it was Shiro. But that… was an entirely different can of worms, really, and one that he wasn’t exactly eager to address.

It was just so much easier to pin it on Keith.

He took a breath in through his nose, long and deep, and held it for a tick before releasing it in a huff. _Okay_ , he thought absently. _Take two_. In his hand, the bayard once again extended, lengthening and tapering off into the long broadsword.

His breathing more under control, he swallowed, and nodded to himself. He kicked the severed sentry heads out of the way before taking his stance again, knees bent slightly. “Alright,” he exhaled, and glanced up towards the ceiling. “No sentries this time. Let’s do—training drones, level five.”

The training deck responded to the request, the lights in the ceiling flaring momentarily while small, spherical drones emerged from the walls around him. He tightened his fingers around the hilt of the sword as the drones, all at once, began to attack.

With his rifle, he could’ve taken them out in one dobosh, maybe one and a half. The sword took him a bit longer, closer to three or four doboshes, but it felt more at home in his hand, followed the motion of his arms more cleanly, and he counted that as a small victory.  The last of the drones crashed to the floor, sliced flawlessly in half, and Lance let the sword fall to his right hip in triumph.

“Widen your stance.”

His head whipped around, to where the voice had come from, and—yeah, there he was. In the doorway of the training deck for quiznak knows how long.

Lance hoped the heat in his cheeks from training hid any redness from the flush he could feel crawling up his neck. Keith had his arms crossed over his chest, wearing only red shorts, a black t-shirt, and the ever-present belt-and-knife combo around his waist. His eyebrows were drawn but his eyes were calculating, like he’d been taking notes on Lance’s technique. “Hey, mullet,” Lance huffed, narrowing his eyes. “How long have you been stalking me?”

A wry smile twisted its way to Keith’s lips, and he raised an eyebrow. “Long enough to hear you grumbling about Lotor. You really don’t like him, do you?” His other eyebrow rose to join its pair. “I mean, I know you’re upset he’s been… how did Hunk put it? _Making moves_ on Allura?”

Lance made an indignant noise, because _that—_ Keith couldn’t be _more wrong._ Literally at all.

“But cursing a guy out for his _generosity?_ Really, sharpshooter?”

Lance’s narrowed eyes narrowed further. He shook his head. “I don’t not like him because of _Allura,”_ he denied, breathing heavily, still. Slow. “That’s not it. I just… I don’t know. I don’t trust him.”

There was an odd look in Keith’s eyes. “Because he’s Galra?”

Lance blinked. “No,” he assured, the frown melting from his face. “You idiot. Obviously not. He just—I don’t know. He’s Zarkon’s _son.”_

Keith raised his eyebrows again. “Didn’t he kill Zarkon?”

Narrowing his eyes again, though not really at Keith this time, Lance shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Something about him just… doesn’t feel right.”

“And you’re sure it’s nothing to do with Allura?”

His glare shot to the slightly older teen’s, heat once again rising in his cheeks. Keith didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.  “You suck. You know that, right?” He shook his head. “What’re you even doing down here? I didn’t think Shiro was gonna let you out of his sight until at least tomorrow.”

Keith smiled a little and he stepped closer, nodding to the sword Lance still gripped in his hand. “Pidge mentioned you got a new toy. Had to see it for myself.”

Lance’s eyes narrowed into a glare as his eyes followed Keith’s dropping to his bayard as well. “I swear to God _,_ Mullet, if you’re just here to make fun of my swordsmanship skills—”

“I’m not,” Keith cut him off, and there was something like amusement in his eyes. “Can I give you a tip?”

Something tightened in Lance’s chest because, quiznak, he’d missed those stupid purple eyes. “Are you going to _actually_ try to help, or are you just going to be mean to me?” He narrowed his eyes at the ex-paladin. “Because if you’re just gonna be a Negative Nancy, you can scoot your half-alien butt right on outta here.”

Keith rolled his eyes and took a step closer to Lance, reaching out to reposition his arms so that the sword was drawn, but relaxed in his grip. His cool fingers tingled slightly on Lance’s warm skin, and it made something bubble up in his chest.  “Widen your stance,” he repeated, tapping Lance’s leg with his foot. “What you’re doing is good for fighting multiple targets, but if you’re going one-on-one with someone, you need a more solid foundation.”

Lance nodded, trying to hide any weariness from his expression. Keith was being almost _too_ casual. As if it were any other day, as if he hadn’t been gone for months, as if this wasn’t the first one-on-one interaction they’d had with each other since he’d joined the Blade. Since Voltron had lost its Red Paladin.

 _Stop that,_ some inner voice chastised him. It sounded suspiciously like Keith. _Red chose you._

Lance knew it was his title now. The Red Paladin. Voltron’s right hand. And he was doing everything he could to live up to that role, he really was. But there was still that nagging doubt, somewhere in his mind, and there was still the image burned into his skull of Keith and Red working so seamlessly together that it was hard to imagine anyone else ever being Red’s pilot. Including himself.

Widening his stance, he glanced at Keith again and pushed the thoughts away. “Better?”

Keith tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Moderately.”

He shuffled his feet out a little more, though it felt a bit like overkill. “How about now?”

Keith just pursed his lips.

Lance narrowed his eyes pushing his feet further out, just a little, before it started to pull very much in the _wrong way._ “If I widen my stance any more than this, Keith, I’m gonna pull my—”

Keith snorted a laugh, cutting him off, and Lance’s words died on his lips. He stood up straighter, an amused grin pulling at his mouth as he raised his eyebrows at the slightly older teenager. “Oh, I see how it is. Texas has some jokes, today,” he quipped. “Tell me—how come you didn’t develop a sense of humor until you joined a secret alien sword fighting club?”

There was fondness in the jab, though, and Keith simply shrugged. “I’ve always had a sense of humor,” he insisted, “you just never appreciated it before.”

“Yeah, well, you know what they say,” he sighed. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

The words fell from Lance’s lips easily, but once he realized what he’d said, he was pretty sure his heart stuttered to a complete and absolute _halt._ Because that right there? That was the elephant. _Absence._

The thing that they all avoided, earlier, while catching up. The topic they danced around while still managing to discuss all that had happened while Keith was away. It wasn’t a decision they had planned in advance, or anything, but the team just sort of… knew. Not to mention it. Because if there was anyone who felt Keith’s absence more than the team did, it was most definitely _Keith._

Lance saw it in the way that Keith didn’t squirm away from the hugs, and the lingering touches, and the way that he smiled at his friends like they were the brightest things he’d seen in a while. He saw it in the guarded eyes and the way his fingers would tighten, curling into fists before being forced to relax, like it was a conscious effort. He saw it in the way he looked at Shiro, and the way he let Pidge cling to him, and the way he leaned into Hunk’s side, and the way he smirked at Lance’s jokes as if he genuinely found them funny.

But Lance knew his jokes. They weren’t that funny.

Lance _knew_ being away from the team was taking its toll on Keith. They all knew. They’d seen that flash of guilt that had taken over Keith’s face when they’d been talking through the video transmission. When Hunk asked what the occasion was, for the visit, and Keith just kind of… froze. A little. Like he’d committed some unforgivable crime, like he’d done something despicable. And that kind of guilt was something Lance never wanted to see on Keith’s face again.

So they avoided it. They didn’t talk about how long he’d been gone, or how many movements it had been since they’d last gotten a call from him. They didn’t talk about the way things were _different,_ now, how everything had changed so much. They didn’t talk about the seat they left open at dinner, because even though they knew he wasn’t coming around to claim it, they collectively couldn’t really stand to see someone else sitting there.

Instead they filled the time with stories of their adventures, retellings of big tales that had happened, and of small tales that were less important but happened too, nonetheless. For his part, Keith didn’t divulge much—he couldn’t, really, due to the whole _secret society_ thing—but he offered up a few stories of a couple of missions he’d taken on, as well, and it was good. Because Keith was _home._ And no one wanted to taint that with words about the lead weights in their stomachs or the holes in their chests, because they knew, with some deep ache in their bones, that he’d be leaving again before they had time to blink.

It wasn’t his fault—it was something he had to do. They all understood that. They were _supportive_ of that. But that doesn’t mean it was easy.

Across from him, Keith lowered his eyes, eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “I’ve—I’ve been gone a while,” he acknowledged, and Lance kicked himself for bringing it up. “I know.”

Lance shifted on his feet, the amused smile he’d been wearing extinguished. He shook his head, something coiling in his chest. “We understand,” he tried to assure him, but the words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

“I should call more. Check in more.”

“Hey.” Lance’s voice had dropped, had become quiet and sincere. “We _understand.”_

Keith’s eyes flicked up to meet his, all deep purple irises and wide pupils, steady as steel despite the way he worked his jaw as if in contemplation. It looked like Keith was staring _through_ him, like those eyes were piercing right through him and into his soul, and—

\-- _ay dios,_ since when did those purple eyes make him feel so exposed _?_

He wondered if Keith could hear his heat hammering in his chest as much as he could. Plastering a grin on his face, he lifted his bayard slightly, settling back into a relaxed stance. “Now that that’s settled,” he pressed forward, voice too-bright but still insistent, “are you just gonna stand there and stare at me, or are you gonna help me train?”

There was a tick where Keith hesitated, where Lance was sure he was going to shake his head and disappear from the room without another word, and it made his heart sink. But then a smile tugged at Keith’s lips, again, and relief flooded through Lance, melting some of the tension that had coiled in his shoulders. Keith reached for his belt, drawing his knife from its sheath, eyes glinting.

“Alright, sharpshooter,” he hummed, and the knife changed, lengthening, extending in a plume of blackish-purple light that sent a shiver down Lance’s spine, raised goosebumps on his arms. He wasn’t sure he’d ever _not_ be impressed by the transformation, the way the knife just responded to Keith’s touch, like that; the way it looked so right, in his hand, the black bladed, double edged luxite sword that radiated this bizarre, otherworldly power. He dragged his gaze away from it, tightening his fingers around the hilt of his own sword as Keith shot him a challenging grin, eyebrows raised. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Lance swallowed. Bent his knees, tightened his core. Because, quiznak—If he couldn’t handle taking on a bunch of sentries, how in the hell was he going to take on _Keith_? Keith, who had always been their best warrior, their greatest fighter, even before he’d joined the Blade of Marmora? Before he’d realized his heritage and his potential, before he’d left to train and work for an elite, ancient society of intergalactic soldiers?

His stomach coiled with anticipation, with adrenaline, but his hands were steady and he set his jaw. He shifted his grip on the broadsword and thanked the cosmos for the competitiveness ingrained in the very fabric of his being, because otherwise, he was sure he would’ve tapped out before they’d even begun.

There was beat of silence, where nothing happened. Then another.

And then Keith lunged.

He brought his sword up quickly, side-stepping and deflecting the strike, but there was so much force behind the swing that he stumbled slightly, losing his footing.

Keith drew back, slinging his sword over his shoulder casually, as if he hadn’t nearly knocked Lance off his feet in one swift movement. He looked pointedly at Lance’s feet, then back up to his eyes expectantly. “I told you. Widen your stance.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were just messing with me.”

A mischievous smile tugged at Keith’s lips. “Oh, yeah, I was,” he assured. “Definitely. But you still need to do it. Like I said—what you’re doing is good for multiple targets, because you’ll be moving more and turning and changing your attention from place to place. One on one?” He stepped closer, putting a hand on Lance’s shoulder and shaking it roughly, and Lance had to shift his weight in order to balance and keep his footing. “It’s more physical, than a rifle, more direct. Whoever you’re fighting is going to knock into you and put their weight behind their strikes. You need to have a steady foundation.”

Keith bent, then, wrapping his free hand around Lance’s ankle and pulling it forward, correcting his stance again. Lance blinked in surprise, once again frozen at the touch of Keith’s cool fingers on his exposed skin but allowed Keith to adjust him into the desired stance nonetheless.

“Bend your knees,” Keith murmured, as his hand shifted to his other ankle, positioning it back further. “Tighten your core. Relax your shoulders and keep your hips rotated towards your target. Square your shoulders with them, and don’t twist so much. If you need to turn, step into it, and when you strike, step into that too.”

Lance swallowed, doing as he was told and... he actually did feel steadier on his feet, he had to admit, as he realigned himself. Keith straightened again, nodding to the sword Lance still gripped and swinging his own back into a more battle-ready grip. He lifted it, angled it as if striking down at Lance from above, and Lance lifted his own sword to block the fake attack.

Keith’s sword clashed down onto his with a sharp sound, but Lance’s held resiliently, unwavering. Keith leaned into it a little more, putting more of his weight onto the blade, and Lance’s continued to hold steady. His feet didn’t move, there was no threat of stumbling—not even his elbows quivered with effort. He felt… sturdy. Strong.

Keith smirked at him, drawing his sword back and taking a step away. “Better?”

Lance blinked at the sword he still brandished, heart jumping, his arms feeling solid and steady. He lowered the sword and couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth. “That’s feels like an understatement,” he exhaled, eyes trailing down onto the broadsword again. “How did you know...?”

Keith shrugged, taking another step away and transferring his own sword from his right hand to his left with ease. Ambidextrous bastard. Maybe it was a Galra thing. “Practice,” he said simply, and settled back into a defensive position. “You’ll get it. You’re mostly there, just need a few adjustments. A couple refinements.”

Lance swallowed but felt a little rush of pride at the words. “Careful, Mullet,” he warned, raising an eyebrow at him. Keith’s words made something warm spread through his chest. “That sounded dangerously close to a compliment. We’re supposed to be rivals, you’re not supposed to be _complimenting_ me.”

The former Red Paladin rolled his eyes, fingers tightening once again around the hilt of his sword, but there was a fondness in his expression that Lance wasn’t sure he’d seen before. It hit him, not for the first time, how much he’d missed those forever-exasperated eyes. “Just—shut up and attack me, would you?”

There was a challenge his voice, and Lance grinned, setting himself quickly. With Keith’s words of advice ringing through his mind, he attacked.

It didn’t take long before the sword was flung from his hand. Lance watched from where he’d stumbled to his knees as it clattered to the floor across the training deck. His breathing was heavy once again, hands held up over his head in surrender as the edge of Keith’s sword hovered mere millimeters from his throat. And although it had lasted no more than two or three doboshes, he’d definitely put up a valiant effort, and that was a start.

Once again, the silence of the training room was perforated only by ragged breathing, sharp gasps for air as they held each other’s gazes. After what felt like an eternity, Keith lowered his blade and took a step back.

Lance pushed himself to his feet, heart hammering pleasantly, and retrieved his sword. He turned to Keith, tightening his jaw. Determined, he reset his stance. “Again.”

And again they sparred. And again. Three, four, five times, each one lasting a little bit longer than the last and Lance gaining more and more confidence, more boldness with each round. His strikes would become sharper, quicker, more calculated, while on the other end of it he anticipated strikes at him and managed to dance away from them with growing ease. All the while, Keith would make small suggestions for him, little things about his shoulders or his hips or the way his fingers gripped the hilt, while also sprinkling in small praises like how his focus was good and his drive was even better.

Lance was never able to disarm him, but that wasn’t really _unexpected._

He was about to suggest they take a break, the strain of training finally rearing its ugly head in the form of a dull but prominent _ache_ spreading through his arms, his shoulders, his back, when he noticed something different in Keith’s eyes. Something shifted. Something less like adrenaline, less the rush of training, and more… uncertain. Solemn and quiet and small. And he was just kind of… watching him.

Lance shifted on his feet, still slightly breathless from training but heart jumping for a different reason. Something heavy pressed down on his lungs, and he felt his eyebrows draw together. “Mullet?” he asked. “You good?”

Keith’s eyes dropped slightly, lingering on the sword still gripped in Lance’s hand. He worked his jaw for a tick, still silent, before inhaling sharply. He blinked as if to clear his head and nodded to the sword. “It suits you.”

Lance glanced down, too, frowning deeper. Again, he felt oddly _exposed_ under Keith’s gaze. “The Red Bayard or the sword?”

When Keith stayed silent, Lance looked up again. Keith’s Blade had returned to knife form, and he was returning it to its sheath in his belt, though his eyes lingered on the Red Bayard with something like sadness lurking in them. “Both.”

Lance hesitated, that heavy feeling in his chest growing heavier, sinking down in his stomach. He let the broadsword fade in his hand, shortening and returning to the natural shape of the bayard. “I don’t know,” he admitted, and shook his head. “I was kinda settling into the whole sharpshooter thing. Besides—you’ve always been the sword guy. Red’s more your color than mine.”

“That’s not true,” Keith murmured, but there was something tight, in his expression, something guarded and tense. “I’ve seen you together. You and Red are a great team.”

“Not as good as you two were,” he argued, though again, they escaped his lips before he’d really considered the words’ potential impact.  

Keith looked at him oddly and shook his head. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Lance.”

Lance’s heart lurched again. Quiznak. Who does he think he is, showing up out of the blue and making Lance _feel things_ like that?

But there was a quiet kind of look in Keith’s eyes, a little bit like sadness, and that was more important. He wasn’t sure if it was pain or sympathy, but something drove him to take a step closer. “You miss her?” he asked. “Red?”

Keith’s eyes flicked up again to meet his, wide and wavering slightly. He swallowed. “I miss everyone,” he admitted, and his voice was shaky in a way Lance was sure he’d never heard of him, before.

Lance took a breath, pressing his lips together in thought. Something like determination washing over him, he forced back that worry, that concern, that heaviness in his chest. He reached out and took Keith’s elbow in his hands, tugging him along and pulling him out the door of the training deck.

“Wha—what?” Keith sputtered, trying to pry Lance’s fingers away. “Where are you taking me?”

Lance rolled his eyes, pushing Keith down the hallway. “To see Red. Duh.”

Keith’s eyes widened slightly, and he spun, digging his heels into the ground in an attempt to stop their momentum. “I—I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Lance let Keith pull him to a stop, releasing his hold only to cross his arms over his chest. “Why not?”

Keith’s eyes widened even more. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “I—I just. I don’t…”

Lance raised an eyebrow, though Keith still struggled to find his words. After a tick of his stammering, Lance nodded, taking hold of his elbow again. “Come on. We’re going.”

Surprisingly, Keith didn’t put up much more of a fight. Not until they reached Red’s hangar, and he simply froze in his tracks.

His eyes wavered as they locked onto the Red Lion. Slowly, he shook his head. There was something in his expression, something unsteady that made Lance’s eyebrows draw together again in worry. “Keith?”

“I left.” His voice was almost inaudible to his ears, Keith’s lips barely moving to form the words. If Lance didn’t know any better, he’d swear that was a _tremble_ in Keith’s chin, just before he tightened his jaw, clenching his teeth. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he croaked the words out louder. “I _left._ She’d never let me in after that. _”_

Lance’s breath caught in his throat. There was something deeper in the words, something raw, and it made his stomach sink. He shook his head, forcing the air to move through his lungs again. “You did what you needed to do,” he reminded him. “No one blames you for that.”

Keith’s lips pressed together tightly, his expression unreadable. “Maybe you should.” Again, the words were mumbled, like he only half-intended to say them out loud. “Maybe I deserve to be blamed.”

A low rumble rose, then, as if in protest, and there was no other way to describe its effects than immediately and inexplicably calming.  The quiet rumble settled in Lance’s chest, pressed up gently to the core of his being, the barrier of his conscious mind, steady and solid and reliable. He felt Red’s presence, warm and comforting, and nudged Keith with his elbow a little bit, eyebrows raising. “I think Red’s saying she thinks you’re a dumbass,” he translated, unnecessarily. “I’m gonna have to agree.”

But Keith just kind of stood there, still as marble, dark purple eyes wide as he craned his neck up to look at her. “I can still feel her.” The words were tinged with disbelief, and Keith’s brow crinkled into a furrow. “It’s faded, but I can still—why can I still feel her?”

Lance shrugged, his own gaze lifting higher to regard the mechanical beast. Red’s eyes were lit up, and she seemed to be peering down at them while her connection with Lance held steady and warm. “She’s chased you across the universe before, idiot _._ Just because you’re not piloting her anymore doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about you. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t still trust you.”

“But I’m not a paladin anymore.” His voice was unsure. “I…”

When it was clear Keith’s words weren’t going to come back to him, Lance raised his gaze to the Lion again. “Left?” he finished, and there was another small rumble, shorter, lower than the last had been. He offered a small nod. “Yeah.”

“She should hate me. She should be angry with me. I left her, I left _everyone._ ”

The repeated words made Lance’s chest tighten, and Red let off another growl almost in tandem with the feeling. And he felt it, in that bizarre, intangible tether that they shared—he felt the heat of her anger, the sting of him leaving, as if it were happening all over again. He tried to send soothing thoughts through their mental bond, and took a breath through his nose. “I think she was,” he admitted. He felt Keith’s eyes flick to him, could see them widen from the edge of his vision, but still didn’t pull his gaze from Red. “I don’t think she’d ever hate you, but I do think she was angry.”

When Keith didn’t respond for a few ticks, he finally drew his attention from the Lion. Keith was watching him with wide eyes. “Was?” he asked after a long breadth of silence. “As in—past tense?”

“I mean. You came back.” Lance could feel the corner of his lips pull up, just slightly, the sharpness from Red melting into something rounder and warmer. “And it’s not permanent, but—you still came back. I think she’s just happy you’re _okay,”_ he admitted, and glanced back to Red, who had bent her head lower towards them. He felt heat crawl up his neck, making his ears hot. “I think we all are. I know I am.”

He looked quickly at Keith again despite the way he was sure his cheeks were flushed brightly, and Keith just stared at him. Again, it was one of those _looks_ that Lance couldn’t quite decipher, because it was so… so—

— _open._ Genuine and vulnerable and _soft._ And quiznak, those were never things he thought he’d be associating with Keith. Keith, who wasn’t _soft._ Keith, who was supportive but rarely open, rarely vulnerable. Keith, who was strong-willed and fierce when it came to fighting and war tactics and keeping his team safe, but hesitant and unskilled in talking to people, in making connections on a more personal level. Like two sides of the same coin, a warrior on one side, steady and reliable and brave, while a boy sat on the other. Orphaned far too young, tentative and uncertain and _hurt_.

There was something troubled in his eyes, something stormy, but before Lance could ask “ _Are you, though? Are you okay?”_ Keith was sending him a small smile, and every scrap of breath left his lungs.

Red hummed again at them, though it sounded more like a purr than anything else. She continued to peer down at Keith, lowering her head slightly and stopping just feet away from where he stood. He looked at her with those wide eyes of his, before quickly looking back to Lance, as if for permission.

Lance gave a small nod, smiling a little himself. Breathing again.

Keith’s smile grew, just a fraction, but it was genuine and made some of the heaviness in Lance’s gut lighten. He stepped closer to Red, lifting a hand as he did and pressing it firmly onto the paneling of the Lion’s nose. In response, Red leaned into his hand, a rumble of content resonating from somewhere deep within her mechanical body and washing over the hangar.

It was a warm sound, a comforting sound, and Lance watched Keith’s smile crack into a grin as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the cool metal. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and Lance knew the words weren’t for him.

It was odd, because it was clearly a moment Keith and Red were sharing, but…  Lance wasn’t sure he’d ever felt more secure in his connection with Red, than right then. He wasn’t sure if it was some kind of closure deal, or something about forgiveness, but he also wasn’t sure it mattered. There had always been a bit of uncertainty in him, something nagging at the back of his mind that screamed _Red made a mistake, choosing you._ But he never felt closer to his Lion than he did then, with Keith’s hand and forehead resting on her, never felt more confident in their connection, never felt more capable of wielding that stupid, spectacular broadsword and fighting for the freedom of the universe.

It was like an assurance, the gentle rumbling that he felt more than heard coming from her. An assurance that there was no bad blood, that he didn’t have to worry so much, that he could stop feeling so quiznaking guilty about Red choosing him. Because they might be rivals, but he never wanted Keith to _resent_ him. That was—well, that was about the farthest thing from what he wanted, actually.

But Keith didn’t need to know that.

He cleared his throat. When Keith didn’t stir, he did it again, louder. Keith lifted his head, finally, turning to look at Lance with a smile still lingering on his face, and Lance raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me now, Kogane.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed, but his hand still lingered on Red’s muzzle. “I’m not _soft.”_

Lance nodded, crossing his arms. “Good,” he said, like a challenge, “‘cause I can’t show you up with my fancy new sword if you go soft _._ That just wouldn’t be right.”

Keith rolled his eyes, giving Red a few more fond pats before crossing his own arms. Accepting the challenge. “Show me up, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Lance affirmed, “faster than an angry klanmüirl.”

Something glinted in Keith’s deep, purple eyes. “Those are some big words, sharpshooter.”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “Of course,” he added, narrowing his own eyes, “you _do_ kind of have an advantage over me, I’ll admit it. Considering sword fighting literally runs in your veins, and all. Plus—secret alien fight club.”

Keith just shook his head, not dignifying that with a response as he turned to walk away, but there was amusement in his eyes and Lance took it as a win.

It was a temporary fix for a larger underlying problem, he knew. Whatever was bothering Keith, whatever had driven him back to the Castle in the midst of a war he’d normally be mullet-deep in? It certainly wasn’t because Kolivan had _given him time off._ And it’d come out, whenever Keith was ready for it to. Until then, he wouldn’t push. After all, Keith wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

The flush Lance felt color his cheeks as he followed him back to the training deck made that _pretty_ _quiznaking_ _clear_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright they had to have had fight club?? What year does Voltron take place in anyways???? Fight Club HAD to have been a thing, that's it, it's done.
> 
> I did this chapter from Lance's POV for a few different reasons. A) character development. B) to get into the minds of the team, in a way, who are still in the dark about Krolia but are 100% onto the fact that something happened Keith isn't telling them about. C) uhhh Keith just returned from outer space spontaneously with his fancy alien sword and that really tight uniform and Lance's poor little heart can't really take it? 
> 
> Once again, comments and critiques are always welcome!


	3. Finger Guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro's concerned about Keith, and Keith has... 
> 
> ...a lot to get off his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated the tags too but **TW** // references to suicidal thoughts/tendencies
> 
> A lot (A LOT) of dialogue in this one but BROGANES IS REAL and my boys need to chat
> 
>  
> 
> ***KEITH'S POV***

“So are we ever going to talk about it?”

Keith blinked, the voice pulling him from his thoughts as he felt his shoulders stiffen slightly. He turned his head to regard Shiro, who stepped through the threshold to the lounge with his arms crossed and a concerned line between his brows. Keith raised his own eyebrows, setting aside the knife he’d been cleaning absentmindedly. His chest was tight. “Talk about what?”

Shiro’s frown deepened, crossing to sink down onto the couch beside him, his face pinched in a way that signified he was in _disapproving-Space-Dad_ mode. He an Allura should get matching t-shirts, Keith thought numbly, though the iron grip on his lungs didn’t let up any. _Disapproving Space Parents._

It was his second day cycle back at the Castle, and so far, things had been relatively smooth-sailing. He’d gotten to catch up with the team, swapped stories about their recent adventures. Oriende and Marmora training and Lotor and reprogrammed sentries. Trained for a bit, like how they used to, sparring against drones and gladiator bots and sentries. He’d even reconnected with Red, in one of the most civil—and frankly _intimate—_ moments he’d ever shared with Lance.

And it hadn’t been awkward, when it happened, which was unusual to say the least. Because Keith didn’t really do _intimate,_ and he’d be the first to admit to it. He was emotional constipation at its finest, and he hated it, but there’s not exactly a twelve-step program to fix a lifetime of repression, so he kind of just let it be.

But talking with Lance had been… nice. Easy. Like maybe there was a sliver of hope for the future, where they could be more than just rivals. Where they could be something better. Friends. Family. _More?_

It wasn’t an _unpleasant_ picture, but maybe that was just the whole ‘being immersed in detached, unemotional Blade life for so long’ talking. Maybe he’d been so starved of human connection that he was just holding onto it wherever he could. Even if it came in the form of Lance and some horrible, horrible puns.

It was an easier reality to submit to than the truth, so that’s what he was going with.

But being back at the Castle was easy. It was almost like he’d never left, and the calm comfort that settled around him felt warm and safe. The tight coils of anxiety in his chest had started to unravel, the lead weight in his stomach still very much present but growing easier to carry with every passing breath.

However Keith was well-versed in disappointment, and he was no stranger to the concept that all good things must come to an end. It was just a matter of time.

He braced himself for the worst when, beside him, Shiro let out a long sigh. His voice was low, but steady, when he spoke. “You’re not _dispensable_ , Keith.”

The nervous pull in his stomach unwound, slightly, because that… wasn’t what he was expecting. At all, actually. He’d been expecting something more accusatory, something insistent and demanding. He’d been expecting Shiro to ask what his true intentions were for being here, what had truly driven him away from the Blade of Marmora so unexpectedly.

He was expecting to be scorned for leaving for so long, for being so out of touch, for hurting the team in the deep way that he knew he had. For his absence, for the radio silence.  Quiznak, he was prepared for Shiro to ask him to _leave_ , already, to go. To tell him that he’d overstayed his welcome, that any more time spent with the team would only make it harder on them when he inevitably left, again. That he needed to cut out now for their sakes.

He was expecting to get chewed out. He was expecting Shiro to be angry. And instead he says something like _that_?

He tilted his head, still looking at Shiro. “I’m… what?”

Shiro’s frown softened a little bit, eyebrows drawing up where they were still furrowed together in concern. He shook his head slowly. “You’re not dispensable,” he repeated, and still, the words were steady. “You know that, don’t you?”

Keith blinked, and while that tightness in his muscles had loosened tightly— _Shiro wasn’t angry at him, Shiro wasn’t kicking him out of the Castle—_ something heavy still settled in his stomach. Because those words might’ve been true, at some point. He might’ve believed him in another time—when he was a paladin, a pilot, when he had a role to play. But Blades were disposable, as Kolivan so readily reminded him. And Voltron was stronger than ever without him. And he’d been passed around as a kid so often he had started to think he was a plague, doomed to ruin everyone he touched. So Shiro’s words, as earnest and genuine as they sounded as they hung in the air around them, didn’t exactly hit home the way he supposed they were intended to.

Still, he offered a small nod, dropping his eyes slightly and averting his gaze from Shiro’s. “Sure,” he replied. “Of course I do.” He picked the knife back up, forcing his fingers to loosen where they’d tightened around the small cloth he held, and resumed polishing.

Around them the lounge was quiet, the rest of the team busy prepping dinner, but Keith silently wished that Lance was there. Or Pidge, or Hunk, or anyone, really. Anyone that could serve as a distraction, anyone that could draw Shiro’s attention away from him, where it was so severely calculating. Like he was taking a measuring tape to every detail of his expression, assessing the inflection of every word he spoke.

Though his gaze was lowered, he could see Shiro narrow his eyes slightly from the corner of his vision. “Hey. I’m serious.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly, still focused on the knife in his hands. It wasn’t his Blade, which was still securely sheathed in his belt, rather an ordinary throwing knife he’d picked up somewhere down the line. He twisted the cloth tighter between his fingers, using it to scrape at the slightly-rusted cutout where the blade met the hilt. “So am I,” he insisted without looking up.

“Keith _.”_

The name was hard and said with conviction, like an order. Finally Keith lifted his gaze to the paladin’s, eyebrows still raised. _“_ Shiro _.”_

Shiro’s lips pressed together into a thin line, but his gaze held steady. Slowly, he shook his head. “You can’t just—you can’t expect me not to be worried, after that stunt you pulled.”

Keith offered nothing more than a blank look, genuinely unsure where Shiro was going.

The older man’s expression wavered slightly, relaxing and giving into the concern he so clearly felt, some of the tension in his forehead melting into something softer. “Naxzela?” he offered, his voice careful. “You know, when you nearly blew yourself up? Ring any bells?”

Oh. That.

The weight currently settled in Keith’s gut grew heavier, and his breath turned sharp, caught somewhere in his throat. He tightened his jaw, shaking his head slightly. “The entire planet was about to explode,” he responded tightly, though something in his voice wavered. “There was no other way to break through the barrier.”

Shiro frowned deeper, unaccepting of the excuse. “Except there _was_ another way to stop it,” he pointed out, but his words were still laced with concern, still weren’t harsh.

Keith’s jaw clenched tighter. “We didn’t _know_ that, at the time,” he insisted, and his voice was still unsteady. “Shiro, if Lotor hadn’t come, everyone in a fifteen-galaxy radius would’ve been blown to space dust. I only did what I thought I needed to do in order to stop that from happening.”

“And sacrificing yourself in the process?” Shiro countered, eyebrows furrowed. “Did you even think about what would happen to you?”

His palms were clammy. Of course he had. Of course he’d thought about it. “I had a job to do,” he said instead, the words insistent. “I wasn’t going to compromise the mission, risk the safety of the universe, because it was a little dangerous.”

A stern look. “ _Keith.”_

_“Takashi.”_

Shiro paused—Keith only brought out the full name when he was serious, or seriously ticked. After a moment, he let out a breath. “You would’ve died.”

“You don’t think I know that?” he snapped, finally, the sharpness in his chest getting to him. He shook his head, narrowing his eyes slightly as his fingers stilled, tightened. “You honestly don’t think I know that?”

Despite the hardness of his voice, despite the harsh edge to his words, Shiro’s worry never wavered, never morphed into anything other than quiet, genuine concern. Internally, Keith wondered how he’d always been able to do that—to keep his lid on, to keep himself from exploding in response to whatever hell was happening around him. Shiro shook his head a little. “No,” he admitted, “I know you know. I just don’t think you _care,_ and that’s what worries me.”

Keith stayed silent at that, steadying his breathing. He’d come to the Castle to get _away_ from his feelings, away from the anger and the confusion and the hurt. Away from thoughts of his mother and the disorienting concoction of opinions he had about her. Not to get lectured about how reckless he can be. Not that Shiro didn’t have a _point._ But still.

It was just because Shiro _cared,_ and he knew that. He appreciated that. But it didn’t make him any better at dealing with the war inside his chest that was only growing more violent, more destructive by the tick.

When he stayed silent, Shiro pressed forward. “Keith, I just—I worry about you, is all.” Of course. “We all do. Because it’s not the first time something like that’s happened, either.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, and his words were harsher than he intended, again, sharp and defensive.

Shiro heaved a sigh, drawing his gaze away to look out the window with a small shake of his head. “The Trials?” he reminded Keith gently, and his eyebrows drew together. “Knowledge or death?”

And Keith’s anger flickered, as quickly as it had arisen, his heart stuttering slightly at the words. They were ingrained into his brain, at this point, burned into his skull. A mantra. An unwelcome, reluctant mantra. Some of the fight had drained from his shoulders, and really, he felt more tired than angry. “That was different,” he said quietly, and it was. “Completely different. You _know_ that.”

“I do,” he agreed with a nod, and brought his gaze back to Keith’s. “I also know that they would’ve killed you, and if it meant getting information on your past, you would’ve let them. You almost _did_ let them.”

“I had a right to know.” The words were final, concise, and Keith shook his head. “It was the only shot I had to actually _learn_ something about myself. I had to, Shiro, I needed—” His voice hitched and he broke off, words clogging his throat. A hand of something, something _raw,_ clenched in a fist around his windpipe. He swallowed it back. “— _something._ Anything.” He took a breath, trying to steady himself. “I had been carrying around so many questions, for _so long,_ and finally had the chance to get some answers. I thought you understood that.”

“I do understand that,” Shiro agreed, and Keith noticed his fingers loosen from where they’d tightened on his knees. “I just—” And for the first time, Shiro’s voice wavered. He took a breath through his nose, swallowing, and something lurched in Keith’s chest. “I’m just worried that this is going to turn into a pattern. That you’re going to run head first into something that could kill you because you don’t care about yourself enough not to. Because you think you’re _dispensable,_ that it doesn’t matter what happens to you.” Shiro paused slightly, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “It _does_ matter, you know. To me, to us. And it should matter to you.”

Keith pressed his lips together, the weight only growing heavier, pulling at his chest. Lurching heart and constricted lungs. Guilt. Regret. Shame. His blood pumped loudly in his ears, and he shook his head slightly, forcing the edge from his voice. “I don’t have a death wish, Shiro.”

It was almost hard to say around the lump in his throat, but it was true. He didn’t have a death wish. Not in the way Shiro was indicating, certainly. Maybe he had a point about Keith’s willingness to put himself in harm’s way, and maybe he didn’t weigh his own wellbeing to the extent that he should when making decisions. But he wasn’t about to put his own safety above the safety of the universe. He figured Shiro, of all people, would understand that.

The fact that he considered himself _dispensable_ hadn’t even been a player on the board, no matter how comfortably the word seemed to fit.

 “I hope not,” Shiro murmured quietly, eyes still gazing over him in concern. He shook his head. “We just worry about you, Keith.”

“I know.”

“We care about you, we don’t want to see anything bad happen to you. And with you being away, working for the Blade, it’s—” Shiro broke off, bringing his gaze lower and rubbing his fingers together a little. “It’s hard not to worry. We don’t know what’s going on, if you’re out on a mission, if you’re _hurt…_ ”

Keith let out a breath through his nose. “I know,” he acknowledged, heart still beating heavily in his chest. “And I’m sorry.” But, quiznak, the words seemed so _inadequate_. He tightened his jaw slightly, because if he didn’t, he was sure his chin would be trembling. “I’ll try to do better,” he amended. “I’ll—I’ll check in, more, and come visit more.”

 _Not just when something monumental happens and I can feel myself shutting down,_ a voice added unhelpfully. He really should tell them. They deserve to know.

Keith dropped his gaze to his own hands, frowning deeper, furrowed eyebrows casting deep shadows over his eyes. “I never—” Again, his throat closed, cutting the words off short. He swallowed, wetting his lips, and his voice was quieter when he tried again. “I never wanted to hurt anyone by leaving. It was never that I didn’t want to _be here,_ to be part of the team, but I couldn’t—I had to…” He trailed off, his voice getting dangerously shaky, alarms flashing in his brain yelling _warble zone, warble zone, retreat, retreat._

“Hey.” And Shiro’s hand, the flesh-and-bone one, was on his knee, drawing his gaze upwards once again. His fingers tightened slightly, and he offered Keith a small nod. “We know. It’s okay.”

Keith swallowed again. His resolve felt as flimsy as cooked spaghetti, but he somehow managed to muster up a grateful smile. “If it’s any consolation, it… really is nice to be back.”

Shiro returned the smile, and it was small but so very genuine. “It’s nice to have you back,” he returned, but there was a touch of something darker still webbed in his eyes. “The team’s spirits haven’t been this high in a long time,” he confided, then. “For a while, everything was just… kind of a mess. But things lately have actually been okay. We’ve been making actual _progress_ with the Resistance. Allura found Oriende, made a connection with the White Lion. Zarkon’s gone. Lotor’s…”

Shiro trailed off, and Keith cocked an eyebrow at him. “…an ally?” he suggested, but the paladin only sighed. The small smile Keith had been wearing grew a little. “Don’t tell me you’re upset about him and Allura, too?”

Shiro’s eyes cut to him, narrowed slightly. “I’m not upset about him and—” But he broke off, catching himself, and his eyes narrowed further. “There’s nothing _there_ to be upset about. And even if there _was,_ okay, why would I…”

But he could read Shiro like a book, and Keith shook his head, smile cracking into a grin. “Since when do you have a thing for the Princess, Mr. Head-of-Voltron?”

Shiro huffed, shaking his head. “That would be unprofessional,” he muttered, but Keith didn’t miss the slight flush of pink crawling up his neck. “She’s our superior _,_ she’s—”

“—strong and brave and kind of a badass?”

The corner of Shiro’s lips twitched, just a little. “She is kind of a badass.” His glare cut to Keith’s again.  “Watch your language.”

“I’m an adult.”

“Barely.”

“Ouch.” But Keith couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. “You’re not denying it.”

The older pilot just sighed again, and let his eyes close. He dropped his head back, so that he was looking up at the ceiling. “We’re in the middle of a _war,”_ he groaned. “It really isn’t the time or place to be worried about it.”

“Wait till after the war and you might be too late,” Keith pointed out, and Shiro brought his head back up to regard him wearily. Keith shrugged, smile fading. “I mean—if you’re planning on going back to Earth once the war’s over, once Voltron isn’t needed, then… ‘during the war’ seems like kind of the only time you _have_ , to be worried about it. Don’t you think?”

Shiro’s eyes turned thoughtful as he weighed the words and tightened his jaw slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Keith raised his eyebrows again, tilting his head slightly. “Just don’t mention it to Lance. He’s _way_ too competitive—he’d turn wooing her into some kind of Olympic sport.”

And Shiro just sort of… stopped. And looked at him. His expression was unreadable, but if he was going to _try_ and decipher it he’d put his money that that glint in his eyes was _amusement._ Keith felt heat rise on his own face, crawling up his neck.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he groaned after a tick, breaking the silence.

But Shiro just smiled a little, shaking his head and looking away, and, yeah. That was definitely amusement in his grey eyes. “I just. I don’t really think I have to worry about Lance, is all.”

Keith paused, something odd twisting in his stomach. “Meaning?”

Shiro cast him a sideways glance. “Meaning I’m pretty sure he’s got his eyes on someone else.”

The twisting in his stomach turned into his stomach just flipping over entirely, and when he opened his mouth, no words came out.

Shiro pressed on, shifting in his seat and noticeably more relaxed than he’d been before. “He told me how you sparred with him, earlier,” he said, and his voice was far too casual for comfort. “Showed him a few things with his new sword. That was nice of you.”

Keith narrowed his eyes, letting out a huff and finally finding his words. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and hunkering lower into the couch. “Idiot would’ve gotten killed, fighting like that.”

Shiro arched an eyebrow at him, and Keith felt heat rise to his cheeks. “And that’s all it was?” Shiro asked, again, far too innocuously. “Just helping him not get killed?”

“What else would it be?” he shot back snappishly, but he didn’t really intend to. It was more like a knee-jerk reaction, a reflex. To save him from, y’know, further shame and humiliation.

But Shiro didn’t seem offended by the tone, and simply nodded knowingly. “If you say so,” he relented, but that amusement was still laced in his voice and Keith felt himself flush further.

Silence settled around them for a moment, and it was… easy. Safe. Shiro had always been _safe._

Keith swallowed, shifting in his seat again. “I found my mother.”

He hadn’t actually _meant_ to say the words, but something lifted off of his chest when he did, some heavy weight he’d been bearing that had been crushing the breath out of him, and it was… okay.

But for a few agonizing ticks, Keith worried he had only imagined saying the words as Shiro, beside him, stayed silent. His heart began beating violently in his throat and he bit his lip, casting his gaze sideways, back to the Black Paladin, who was frowning deeply. Concerned, and cautious, and careful.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Opened it again, eyes narrowing slightly. “You… you found— _what?”_

Keith nodded again and returned his gaze to the knife he held. He picked at the hilt, where the leather wrapping the handle was fraying slightly. “My mother,” he affirmed, in something like a grunt. He swallowed, and he wondered if it was as audible to Shiro as it was in his own ears. Regardless, he pressed on. Because _quiznak,_ if he didn’t say it now, he wasn’t sure he ever would. “Her name’s Krolia.”

His voice shook, but didn’t _break_ through the name, and he considered that a small victory.

From the corner of his vision, he could see Shiro’s eyebrows draw together in a deeper frown, though his gaze was far away. Somewhere on the horizon, beyond the pane of the window they sat near. He blinked slowly, and shifted in his seat slightly to face Keith better. “Krolia,” he parroted, his voice quiet and thoughtful, like he was rolling it around in his mind. “Sounds very…”

When Shiro’s thought hung in the air for a tick, unfinished, Keith glanced back up. “…Galran?” he offered, and Shiro’s gaze flicked up to his once more. Keith sighed, offering a nod and setting the knife in his hands aside again. “Yeah.”

Shiro’s mask of surprise melted into something more concerned, eyes wide and confused. “Is she—” he started, but the words cut off as his eyebrows drew together. “I mean… _how?_ Where? When?”

Keith took a deep breath, though it didn’t help steady the quivering knot of _something_ in his chest. “The, uh—the last mission I went on for the Blade,” he began, and his voice still shook in a way that he loathed but had no control over. “She’d been undercover on this Galra cruiser, posing as one of the guards. Worked her way up the ranks from the inside to gather intel on the new quintessence distribution ring. It was an extraction mission, to get her out. Bring her back to the Marmora Base.” Keith hesitated, dropping his gaze again to his fingers, scowling. “She saved my life.”

“Wait, you—you _met_ her?”

Keith nodded slightly with another grunt of affirmation. “Oh yeah. She nearly blasted my head off.”

Shiro’s fingers curled around his shoulder. “On purpose?”

Catching the hint of alarm in the words, Keith shook his head, looking up at the paladin again. “Only kind of,” he assured, and shrugged awkwardly. “I almost took her head off with my sword, too, so—” He broke off. _Like mother, like son I guess,_ he thought. _“_ No harm, no foul,” he said instead, because though there was most certainly some harm done, it had little to do with their nearly-too-violent introduction.

Shiro’s eyes were still worried, though, deep grey and stormy. “Did you—did you talk to her?” he asked. “Did she say anything? Did she tell you _why—”_

 _“_ —she abandoned me on Earth with my deadbeat dad without as much as a note saying _hey, surprise, you’re half alien_?” Keith finished.

Shiro winced, as if stung, inhaling audibly.

Keith took another breath, reigning in the sharp bitterness in his words.  He wasn’t angry with Shiro _,_ after all. “No,” he answered his own question, and his voice was calmer. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, taking refuge in the pressure, in the darkness.  “Didn’t really get around to that conversation, yet,” he admitted, and dropped his hands. “Didn’t… really get around to _any_ conversation, actually.”

Shiro’s fingers, still curled around his shoulder in solidarity, tightened slightly. “You didn’t talk to her?”

He shook his head, lungs tight again. “I—I kind of just… panicked. And left.” He dropped his gaze back down to his fingers, ducking his head again. _Guess I take after her, like that._

Shiro grew quiet for a tick, then, and then another. His lips pressed together slightly before he spoke, as if he had to brace himself in case of any backlash. “I hate to ask this, kiddo, but—you’re sure it was her, yeah?”

The thought had crossed Keith’s mind before, too. The universe wasn’t a small place, after all. What were really the odds of stumbling across one particular person, out of everyone to exist _ever?_  But something in his gut—maybe the core of that horrible _weight_ lingering there—always knew it was true. There was no doubting it.

He sighed, nodding his head a little. “Yeah,” he assured Shiro, “I know it’s her. She could use my Blade.” He paused, before correcting himself. “ _Her_ Blade. Plus…”

Again, he hesitated. Wet his lips and rubbed his still sweaty palms against his pants.

“…I look like her,” he finished, and his voice was small, but steady. Another victory.

Shiro raised his eyebrows at that, and when Keith glanced at him again, there was a small, sad kind of smile tugging on his lips. “Yeah?”

He nodded again. “I didn’t see it at first, y’know—wasn’t really looking for it. But yeah. A lot like her, actually.” He snorted slightly, little more than a short, sharp exhale through his nose. “If I were two feet taller and purple, we could’ve been twins.”

Shiro’s smile twitched, just a little bit. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I…” He trailed off. “I don’t know, yet.”

And that smile, that encouraging, supportive, sad little smile Shiro wore flickered away. “And how are you?” he asked, and while his voice was still concerned and careful, it was a stronger, more solid. Protective. “Are you okay?”

Keith’s heart lurched. Sometimes he forgets how long he’s known Shiro. That Shiro’s seen him through not only his time in the Garrison, but through foster home after foster home, group homes and orphanages, passed around like a cigarette until he was all burnt up. Then Shiro gets that _protective_ tone in his voice and he remembers.

“I’m fine,” he tried to assure him, but the words sounded flimsy even to his own ears. He tried again. “I’m… trying to be fine,” he amended. “I don’t know.”

Shiro bent his head forwards a little, catching Keith’s eye again. “It’s okay to be angry,” he reminded him, and his eyes were wide and honest. “You have every right to be angry.”

“I don’t _want_ to be angry.” The words came out on their own, his hands still clammy and— _quiznak,_ that quivering feeling at the base of his throat felt dangerously like tears. He shook his head, forcing it down, forcing it away. He hadn’t cried yet, and he didn’t plan on it now. “I’ve been angry my entire life, and I… I don’t want to be angry, Shiro, I’m—I’m _so tired_ of being angry.”

Shiro watched him carefully, and Keith, again, pushed away that shaky, nervous feeling that was welling up. Finally, after a long stretch of silence and with what looked like admiration in his eyes, Shiro gave him another small, barely-there smile. “Then maybe you should try to talk to her?”

His heart was in his throat, again, and his stomach had sunk so low he was surprised it hadn’t gone straight through the floor beneath them. “I don’t think I can.”

Shiro sighed a little bit. “Keith…”

“Not yet,” he backtracked, and swallowed. If his hands weren’t pinned to his knees, he was sure they’d be shaking. “I don’t think I can _yet._ I will, I’ll get there. Just…”

Again, his sentence hung in the air around them, unfinished. Shiro nodded, understanding. “Just not yet,” he finished, and Keith nodded.

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Is this why you came home?”

The words were said gently, and were anything but accusatory, but still Keith winced. A tidal wave of guilt washed over him and he closed his eyes. “I didn’t mean for it to be,” he said honestly, and shook his head, words coming out quickly, now, hastily and unfiltered. “Quiznak, I—I’m horrible _._ I really didn’t mean for it to be, Shiro. I just—I just kind of panicked.”

“It’s okay, Keith.”

“I just—I couldn’t stay there, at Base. With her there. Blades are—” _Soldiers. Cold. Unemotional. Detached. Indifferent._ “They wouldn’t understand. They don’t _do_ panic.”

“Kiddo, it’s _okay.”_

“And most of them already give me enough shit for being a _bastard kit,_ you know?” The words were nearly snarled out. “ _Half breed._ Like I had any fucking choice in the matter.”

“Hey.”

“Not that—not that they’re bad to me, or anything, just. They don’t get it.”

“Kiddo…”

“I couldn’t bring all of this back to Base. Kolivan would throw me to the space-wolves if I let it interfere with the Blade’s missions.”

“Keith _.”_

“And there’s no way I can just _work_ with her, as if she were any other Blade, right? I’d never be able to concentrate, not without talking to her first, and. And I can’t—I, I don’t—”

“ _Keith.”_

Shiro’s voice was clear and hard, and Keith swallowed down the words tumbling from his mouth. His breath came quickly and shallowly, and his heart beat loudly in his ears.

“Calm down,” Shiro murmured, and his gaze was… calming. Soothing. Gentle. He shook his head a little, eyes never wavering. “No one’s upset with you.”

The nervous tension that had bubbled up in Keith’s chest seemed to lessen into something akin to a simmer, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. Okay. Right. Shiro was right, he needed… he needed to stop. To breathe. It was okay.

After a moment, he nodded, dropping his gaze. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

Shiro’s hand stayed curled around his shoulder, and the warmth it offered spread down to the tips of his fingers, across his chest where it seemed to slow his excessive heartrate. “Do you trust me?”

Keith’s eyes flicked back up to him. Of course he did. “Of course I do.” It wasn’t even a question.

“And do you trust the team?”

That warmth in his chest held steady, his breathing more even. “With my life.”

A small smile tugged at Shiro’s lips, then, and he nodded, giving Keith’s shoulder a squeeze. “Then trust that we’ll all be here for you, yeah? No matter what.”

 _Easier said than done,_ some part of his mind said, clipped, but he pushed that away. Because this was his…  family _._ His unconventional space family. And yes, obviously they’d be there for him. It was a hard concept for him to wrap his mind around, sometimes, because _family_ was always this transient, abstract idea in his head and never something he tried to think too much about. But Shiro’s assurance eased away that tension, that heavy feeling in his gut, and he should’ve known better than to ever think the team would be anything less than supportive, less than understanding.

They were family. They were _home._ They were safe and warm and steady, and for the first time in his life he had something constant to hold on to, something that wasn’t going to disappear in the blink of an eye, and he cherished it.

He nodded again, steadier, more confident. “Yeah,” he agreed, and a smile tugged at his mouth. “I know, Shiro. Thanks. I’ll… I’ll tell them soon. I just need a minute. To think. Breathe. Y’know.”

Shiro returned the smile. “Of course. And I won’t mention anything to the others until you do. On your terms, kid.”

He hadn’t realized how tense his shoulders had gotten until they deflated in relief, an easy and welcome silence settling over them. Because he wasn’t quite ready to have those conversations, yet—wasn’t ready to deal with Pidge’s inevitable (yet well-intentioned) interrogation, or Hunk’s excited hugs, or Lance’s insistent prodding and joking. It was hard enough for him to wrap his mind around to begin with— _he had a mother, a flesh-and-blood mother, who was a soldier and an alien and very, very alive—_ without having to worry about other people’s reactions.

He nodded gratefully to Shiro, and the smile on his lips didn’t feel forced.

“—‘s hangar, maybe?” a voice suddenly cut through the comfortable silence, growing louder as they got closer, footsteps echoing from the hallway. “Oh—wait, guys! Found ‘em!”

Lance poked his head in, a bright grin on his face when he recognized them on the couch. The rest of his body appeared after, like in a cartoon, as Shiro and Keith turned on the couch to regard him. “Hey, Mr. Antisocial and Mr. Antisocial Jr.,” he greeted, and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Soup’s on. Well—not _soup_ soup, y’know, some kind of. Vegetable. Goo. Thing.” He shrugged easily, lazy grin never wavering. “I dunno. Hunk made it with some plants and roots he found on Berakthion, said it should taste like some kind of vegetable chowder? Smells _amazing.”_

The smile Keith bore twitched, growing slightly. It was so… easy. Normal. Safe. “Yeah,” he said with a nod, “we’ll be out in a sec.”

Lance raised his eyebrows. “Did I _mention_ that it smells amazing? Hunk poured his heart and soul into this non-soup. If you’re not out here in three doboshes, I’m totally eating your share.”

Keith chucked a throw pillow at him from beside him on the couch, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t touch my non-soup, sharpshooter.”

But Lance dodged it easily, jumping to the side and sending the pillow flying out through the door. “Ooh, heh, would you look at that,” he sang, shaking his head. “You missed me. Looks like _someone_ could use some practice on their long-range offensive strategies.”

Keith growled a little. “It was a _pillow,_ Lance.”

“Still missed me.” He gestured towards Keith with those _quiznaking finger guns,_ and backed slowly from the room. “Three doboshes or your non-soup is _mine.”_

When Lance disappeared from earshot, Keith groaned, pushing himself to his feet. “Again with the finger guns,” he muttered, and shook his head, looking to Shiro for backup. “I don’t get it. What’s the point, of that? Besides looking like a tool?” Shiro opened his mouth to respond, but Keith was shaking his head again. “It’s dumb. They’re dumb. _He’s_ dumb.”

That amusement was in Shiro’s eyes again, and Keith felt heat rising to his cheeks. Because of the anger, he told himself, because stupid Lance and the stupid gesture. “What?”

Shiro arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you done?”

Keith narrowed his eyes, grunting. “I hate the finger guns.”

Shiro was grinning now. “Do you hate them, Keith?”

Keith’s face felt like it was going to spontaneously combust. “Yes. I hate them.”

(He didn’t.)

(Shiro knew that, though.)

He sharpened his glare. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

But Keith just groaned again, catching a mechanical elbow and heading to the door. “C’mon,” he grumbled, setting off toward the dining hall with Shiro in tow. “No way am I letting that idiot get his grimy little hands on my non-soup.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Soo I wrote this before the whole "Shiro is gay" thing and LET ME TELL YOU I AM SO THRILLED ABOUT IT BC WHAT A BADASS GAY MAN HE IS but the idea of going back through all of this and rewriting so that shiro doesn't have feelings for women at all (i.e. allura) is giving me a headache so I guess he's bi????? i think he's bi, he's bisexual in this fic, i'm so sorry i'm not trying to erase gay shiro canon-ness bc that's horrible and terrible but i guess here we are, he's still queer!!! I'm queer!!! we're all queer and respect all spectrums of queerness and want shiro to just be happy, ok, that is all i'm gonna say on that (but shiro def still likes boys, he just also i guess has a thing for alien princesses in this fic i'm so sorry please don't hate me it's giving me a lot of anxiety)
> 
> Also someone please just give my boy Keith a hug


	4. Curiosity Killed the Giant Robotic Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance does some investigating. It does not end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My boy Lance thinks about Keith a lot. That is all.
> 
> ***LANCE'S POV***

He hadn’t meant to make a mess of things. He really hadn’t.

Yet here they were. Castle alarms blaring shrilly overhead, radar pulled up on the main display of the bridge indicating the rapid approach of some unidentifiable ship. An unidentifiable, _most likely_ _enemy,_ ship, and it was…

...kind of all Lance’s fault.

He really hadn’t meant to send out their location to the cosmos, broadcasting away to allies and enemies alike.

Though, to be fair, if Keith’s stupid Marmora jet hadn’t been so quiznaking _complicated,_ he probably wouldn’t have done it at all. He wouldn’t have accidentally flicked that switch with his elbow, wouldn’t have accidentally left it on for so long, wouldn’t have had to _scramble_ to find which switch he’d hit in order to turn it off.  Wouldn’t have stood stock still, for a moment, alarm and horror building in his chest as a helpful ‘ **TRANSMITTING COORDINATES’** flashed on the screen in front of him.

Now, Lance was a good pilot. He knew his way around fighter jets, around dashboards and broadcasting systems and central control consoles. He did _not,_ however, know his way around the repossessed Galra jets that the Blades used.

They operated under a different system than what he was used to, foreign to anything he’d seen before, even in the Lions and the Castle. It was advanced and elegant in a way that would have inspired awe in even the most technologically inept—if it weren’t for the tendrils of panic that had snaked around his lungs, constricting his breath, Lance would’ve been struck speechless for a whole different reason. Intricate and complex, with levers and dials and readings Lance couldn’t identify, it really was Galra tech at its finest.

But Lance was Lance. He wasn’t Pidge, or Hunk, and he couldn’t just look at something he didn’t understand and think pensively for a moment before getting hit with a sudden wave of realization about how the gears all worked together.

Which meant he’d had _no quiznaking clue_ how to turn the transmission off.

So, really, it was kind of all Keith’s fault for bringing a jet that was so damn _alien._

By the time he’d managed to turn it off, a few horrifying handfuls of ticks later, his heart had been hammering in his throat and there was sweat beading on his forehead. His hands shook as he clenched his fingers into loose fists, curling them slightly before uncurling them and curling them again. Tight and loose and tight, hovering over the ship’s dashboard as a wave of absolute terror washed over him. He was sure he’d given their location away, was sure he’d blown their cover and put the entire team in danger, all because he had this insatiable need to understand, and Keith’s miraculous return just hadn’t been _sitting_ right with him.

Not that he wasn’t _happy_ Keith was home. Because he was. So incredibly, embarrassingly happy. Probably happier than he should’ve been. It eased a nervous, quivering ball in his gut he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying around, and the Castle felt like _home_ again—and Lance didn’t use that term lightly. But it still didn’t make sense _._

And as much as he valued the silent vow he’d made to not force the truth from Keith, Lance couldn’t help but be curious. It would be different if he’d returned with some kind of plan, or with some kind of intention, but he hadn’t. He’d just shown up, in the middle of this war, while the Blade of Marmora’s ranks were spread so mercilessly thin, to… what? Hang out? Train? Eat some of Hunk’s cooking? No, that wasn’t Keith. It just didn’t add up.

Keith was different from the rest of them. A fighter. A soldier, a warrior. He was a little bit bull-headed and stubborn, and a lotta bit impulsive and reckless, with no sense of self-preservation whatsoever, but his priority had always— _always—_ been ending the war. Ending the reign of the Galra Empire, at whatever the cost. It was a drive that seemed to have only gotten stronger once he learned of his Galran heritage. Lance was never able to put it words, but it was like he held a different brand of loathing towards the Galra than the rest of them did, rivaled only by Shiro’s or the Alteans’.

And maybe his hatred stemmed from that Galra side, that part of him that, while still a little jarring to remember sometimes, _isn’t quite human._ But it was there. It’s what made him such a formidable opponent. Loathing and anger and a drive to stop them so vast, and felt so deeply, that it was almost hard for Lance to comprehend entirely.

Something in the back of his mind got it, to some extent, at least – had put two and two together and _understood_ the loathing that Keith brandished like a weapon. Understood why he worked so hard to stop them, as if he had to make up for something; something he’d personally never done, some crime he’d never committed. As if it were his personal responsibility to repent for the horrors the Empire has overseen. As if it were his personal responsibility to prove that not all Galra were monsters.

As if he needed to prove it to _himself_ along the way.

But that thought made something very deep in the core of Lance’s being very sad, and so he kept that mild understanding at an arm’s length and chose to focus on the things he could control, things he could address. Like Keith’s spontaneous resurfacing.

Because it was that drive Keith had that made it so hard for Lance to wrap his mind around it.  If there was anyone that would do anything in their power to put an end to the Galra Empire, it was Keith _._ There was no way he’d just put the war on the backburner, no way he’d just take a timeout and pop by the Castle just to _hang out._ Not when all the other Marmora agents were out there, running below empty, putting their lives on the line. Not when the Galra Empire was still at large. Not when there were civilizations, planets, entire _galaxies_ living under enslavement, tortured and abused and broken. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t Keith.

And Lance had convinced himself to be okay with it, at first. To relish more in the fact that Keith was here _,_ that he was home, than to get caught up in the half-hearted, flimsy reasoning Keith had offered as to why. He’d forced himself to be fine with it. Forced himself to let Keith do his thing, wait him out, let him come to them on his own terms, when he was ready.

But then he’d caught him with Shiro in the lounge.

They were sitting together, their voices hushed enough that Lance couldn’t make out their words from the hallway, but there was an almost palpable, solemn tension in the air. They’d turned their eyes to him upon his entrance, and he’d addressed them as brightly as ever, tucking away the concern that had blossomed to the back of his mind.

They’d been discussing something serious, if the odd glint in Keith’s eyes was any indication, and Lance’s stomach had dropped. But he knew _pushing_ rarely ended well, and again he’d fought the urge to pry.

But then later on, he caught Keith wearing that same, dark look again.

Lance had been returning to his quarters from a quick late-night-goo snack, when he heard noises arising from the training deck. Clashes and grunts and metal clanging against metal. He crept quietly, observed silently, invisibly from the observation deck window. Worry sat in his gut like a stone. 

Keith was facing off with a Gladiator bot on the training deck, at what must’ve been level nine or ten. He was running himself ragged, deep into the night cycle when everyone else was sleeping, fighting with anger, with a vicious, foreign ferocity that Lance had never seen in him before. Jumping, lunging, flipping, slashing in what he could only pin as a very _Galran_ style of fighting. Instinctual and intense and a little bit inhuman. Eventually his sword plunged deep into the throat of the Gladiator, and Lance could see how hard he was breathing, could see that raw, almost _sad_ glint in his eyes again, and he knew more than ever that something was _wrong._ Very, very wrong.

Keith hadn’t seen him watching. If he had, he wouldn’t have pulled his sword free with a frustrated cry, wouldn’t have fallen to his knees in what seemed like mental and physical exhaustion, wouldn’t have buried his face in his hands and just… sat. Utter silence except for his uneven breathing, for what felt like an eternity but was actually little more than a few doboshes.

If Keith had seen Lance watching, he never would’ve been that vulnerable. He never would’ve let Lance see him press the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if stunting forming tears. He never would’ve heaved that shuddering breath, never would’ve made that ragged sound at the base of his throat that sounded like some kind of choked laugh, or maybe a sob. He never would’ve risen, shaky on his feet with a sword in his quivering hand, and called to the room in a broken croak, “ _Gladiator, level twelve.”_

And it was apparently the straw that broke the robeast’s back, because the very next morning, Lance had lost every modicum of willpower to mind his own business and started to snoop.

Which is how he wound up in Keith’s jet in the first place, looking for hints, clues. Anything.

Because his impulse control was playing tug-of-war with his curiosity, with his _concern,_ and losing. 

And there was a voice of worry in the back of his mind screaming _something’s not right, and Keith is hurting._

And they say curiosity killed the cat, but they piloted _lions,_ damn it, and he wasn’t just going to sit by and watch while someone he loved suffered in silence, too emotionally stunted to actually _talk about things_ like some kind of... some kind of—

\--emotionally stunted idiot.

_Quiznak._

He’d started in Keith’s room, but it did nothing to ease his fretful mind. Because everything looked as it always did—stark, bare, clean. Really, it looked like he’d barely touched it since returning. It didn’t even look like he’d been _sleeping_ there.

That was when he checked the jet, and promptly screwed up everything.

When he’d made it back to the bridge afterwards—after having what he deemed a legitimate, albeit small, heart attack—he was relieved to see absolutely no one in any stage of _panic._ Which meant maybe his signal had gone unnoticed, maybe the coordinates he’d shot out into the stars like glitter in a confetti cannon had flown around undetected for the short, but-not-quite-short-enough slice of time they’d been transmitted. Maybe, he had let himself hope, _maybe they’d be okay._

But the universe loved proving him wrong, and the tick that Coran murmured a concerned, “Well, that’s _odd,”_ Lance’s stomach sank faster than Shiro’s arm would in the middle of the ocean.

“Coran?” the Princess had called, frowning. “Coran, is everything alright?”

All eyes had turned to Coran, everyone freezing in place, alert and attentive.

“Er, I—I don’t mean to alarm… anyone…” Coran’s voice was unsure, as he peered closer at the radar Pidge and Hunk had designed, still typing away furiously, and Lance kicked himself mentally because of course, _of course the transmission didn’t go unnoticed you quiznak._

“What is it, Coran?” Allura cut him off, and she had that tone in her voice, that fiery, steady tone that was very much that of a commanding princess. “What’s wrong?”

Above them, the Castle’s alarms began blaring through the PA system.

Coran winced, hastily shutting them off. “It—it appears as though someone’s approaching the Castle. They’ve somehow gotten a lock on our coordinates.” He pressed a few buttons, and suddenly, a larger-scale draw-up of the radar system was projected into the air between them. There was a single dot on it, steadily moving towards the small blue diamond that indicated the Castle.

“Oh, quiznak,” Hunk muttered, and shook his head, glancing to Coran. “How’d they find us? We equipped the Castle with an emission jammer and rerouted the communication systems to scramble our electronic and electromagnetic signatures. No one—no one should be able to find us.” He looked to Pidge for confirmation, but she was too distracted to respond, eyes glued to the screen in front of her, fingers flying across her keyboard. Beside her, Matt was lost in his own charts and readings as well, as unresponsive as Pidge.

Lance swallowed the lump in his throat and raised his hand slowly. Like he was back at the Garrison, admitting to getting that pencil stuck in the ceiling and awaiting his inevitable fate. “I, uh.” He cleared his throat, letting his hand fall back uselessly to his side when seven pairs of eyes cut to his, still on high-alert. Eleven pairs, if you count the mice. “I might’ve had a little bit to uh—to do with it. Them finding us, I mean. Maybe. And by a little I mean—a lot. Yeah. I kinda had… a lot to do with it, I think.”

For a tick, no one reacted. Then—

“What do you mean,” Keith said slowly, eyes narrowing, “you had a lot to do with it?”

Lance wrung his hands together, wincing. “I, uh—I may have accidentally sent out our coordinates?”

Shiro was frowning at him too, now, and yeah—this was great. Just glares all over. “How do you accidentally send out coordinates?”

He shifted on his feet, guilt and alarm churning unpleasantly in his stomach. He lowered his gaze slightly. “I was sneaking around in mullet’s Marmora jet and hit a button with my elbow.”

“You were _what?”_ It wasn’t Keith, though, that said the indignant words. He blinked up at Pidge, who was looking at him with something like betrayal in her eyes. “You went to go fool around with Galra tech and didn’t _tell me?”_

“Or _me?”_ Hunk added, and there was hurt in his eyes. “C’mon, buddy, you know how much I’ve been dying to get my hands on some of their processors!”

“And I would’ve _killed_ to get a look at the communication systems on that jet—”

“And, bud, the _turbines—”_

_“The Galra-specific tracking, Lance—”_

“Guys,” Shiro interrupted, raising his voice slightly. Pidge’s words fell flat, and Shiro settled Lance with a stern _shame-on-you_ kind of look before nodding to the radar. “What’s done is done. We have bigger things to worry about.”

“Like figuring out who picked up the signal Lance so helpfully sent out.” And—yeah, there he was, grumpy as ever. Glaring at Lance like he’d scratched his sword, or whatever the Keith equivalent of _kicking-someone’s-puppy_ would be.

“Yes, I get it,” Lance shot back at him, defensive. “Thank you. I messed up.”

There was something odd in Keith’s eyes at his words, and they softened slightly from their glare into something more… concerned? Lance couldn’t tell, really. Something oddly gentle. “If you wanted to look at the jet, you could’ve just asked _,_ you know.”

The words weren’t said harshly. It made Lance feel worse.

“Like you would’ve let me?” he scoffed, an attempt to cover his true intentions. Because _no._ No way was he letting Keith know he did it out of concern _,_ out of worry _._ But the guilt he felt had twisted his words into something unintentionally sharp. Which. Keith didn’t really _deserve._ But still.

Keith’s eyes hardened again, shaking his head, that brief moment of weird gentleness gone in a flash. He tightened his jaw, crossing his arms over his chest and looking up to the radar again. “You shouldn’t have messed around with it, sharpshooter.”

Lance felt his own eyes narrow into a glare. “Well maybe if you weren’t so stupidly cryptic about everything, I wouldn’t have been nosing around in your stuff. Did you ever think of that?”

Keith blinked, lowering his eyes to Lance’s again. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Lance lifted a hand to gesture at him, indignant. “Oh, you know what it means! You’re—you’re—” He broke off.

“I’m?” Keith prompted. “I’m what?”

Lance groaned, flinging his arm back down. “ _Cryptic!_ You know? You’re cryptic!”

“So you go and screw around with my stuff?” Keith shot back, his own eyes sharp. “Did you ever think of maybe _talking to me?_ Instead of doing something like, I don’t know—messing with Galra technology and broadcasting our location to the entire fucking universe?”

“It was an _accident!”_

“ _Guys.”_ Again, Shiro raised his voice to interrupt, firm and clear. “That’s enough. This really isn’t the time.”

Lance’s chest tightened because—okay. That had escalated quickly. And now Keith was mad? And Shiro was mad. And everything was a mess and, _still_ , it was kind of all his fault.

Shiro turned slightly to Coran and the Princess, jaw set. “Do we have a visual on the approaching ship?”

He was trying to help _,_ he was just trying to _help._ And now there was someone closing in on them, and Keith was glaring, again, and Lance’s heart lurched in his chest because he’d accomplished nothing except multiply his worry for the paladin-turned-space-ninja tenfold. He sighed, stepping closer to Keith while Coran pulled up one of the Castle’s external security protocols, the radar blinking out and being replaced with what must’ve been the Altean version of security camera footage.

He elbowed Keith slightly, keeping his voice low, so only he could hear. “I was worried,” he admitted, his eyes locked on the security feed.

From the side of his vision, he saw Keith blink, some of the tension melting out of his defensive posture. “You were… what?”

Lance nodded, still not looking at Keith. The video didn’t seem to show anything of importance, and across from them, Hunk and Pidge began shooting ideas back and forth as they typed away on their own screens, trying to draw out some kind of way to identify the unwelcome visitor.

“I was worried,” he repeated. “I wasn’t just snooping around for the fun of it. I was worried.” He paused, willing himself to say the words, willing his face to not go beet red. “About you.”

Keith shifted slightly. “You were?”

And there it was, the heat in his face, in his ears, despite the way he desperately tried to keep it away. “Don’t sound so surprised, mullet,” he muttered, a failsafe. Because his feelings were all twisted and making his palms sweaty, and it was so much easier to be rivals. “Despite what you may believe, I am actually a pretty nice person. Y’know, when I’m not talking to emo, mullet-headed _edgelords_ who like to push my buttons.”

But Keith wasn’t taking the bait, and Lance could still feel his weird, purple eyes watch him carefully. “Why were you worried about me?”

 _Because you still don't seem to understand that you're surrounded by people who actually_   _care_ _about you, you idiot_.

Lance’s heart lurched again, and his eyebrows drew together. “Something didn’t feel right, I guess. You just seem… down. Or something." 

But it wasn't just that Keith seemed  _down._ It was how, that first day, he'd let Pidge cling to him for nearly two vargas. It was how he'd been so soft with Lance, for that brief second, when he'd taken him to see Red. It was how he had that serious, lost look in his eyes when Lance had walked into the lounge. It was how he fought with was almost an unstable anger, deep-seated and raw and  _real._ It was how he'd been unquestionably on the verge of tears, but had instead pushed himself to his feet and began hacking away at a Galdiator that, against anyone else, would've certainly been unstoppable. 

It was the odd mixture of happy, and sad, and angry, and confused. It was the exhaustion that clunch to him like a stench. It was weird  _fragility_ of every single moment, every single encounter. Because Keith wasn't fragile. Keith was sharp corners and edges, steady and reliable to a fault. Keith was a softer center, though he hid that part of himself well, awkward and socially inept but always _caring_. Always caring.

But now he was hurting. And it was something so much more complex than seeming  _down._

"I dunno," Lance finished, a bit quieter. "I was just... worried.”

Keith stayed silent, and for a tick, Lance was worried he’d scared him off with his openness, or something. Seemed like the kind of thing that could scare Keith off. Robeasts and druids and aliens? Piece of cake. Sincere, open conversations? Not a mullet in sight.

In front of them, Coran shifted the video feed to survey a different view from the Castle. Still no enemy ship. Maybe they were using a cloaking device.

“Why didn’t you just say something?”

Lance’s heart stuttered, surprised at the odd innocence of the question. He blinked, finally returning his gaze to Keith’s while, again, Coran shifted the view of the security footage. “Because you’re you,” he replied honestly, his eyebrows drawing together slightly. “And you don’t usually, y’know. Go for that kind of thing.”

Keith’s eyebrows drew together too, at that, a small line of confusion between his brows just visible under the fringe of his stupid messy hair. “Because I’m…” He hesitated, tilting his head slightly. “…cryptic?”

He felt the corner of his mouth twitch slightly, and he returned his gaze to the video screen. “Yeah,” he agreed, stifling the smile that was tugging at his lips. “Because you’re cryptic. Also because you’re an emotionally constipated quiznak who doesn’t know how to _talk_ about things.”

Beside him, he heard Keith sigh tiredly. “That’s not even how you use that word.”

But Lance only hummed, something settling in his chest because _Keith wasn’t angry with him_ and at least he fixed one problem. There were about a million left, but. Baby steps. “Whatever you say, space ninja.”

But as nice as that ease in his chest was, it was short-lived. Because a handful of ticks later, the Castle’s alarms were blaring again as the video feed in front of them honed-in on what was, most definitely, a Galra fighter jet.

Only, it was just one. Which was suspicious. Usually when the Galra decided it was time for a little destruction, they sent swarms of them at a time, cannons firing deadly laser-rain from the cosmos. It was never just _one._

“It is Galra,” Pidge groaned, and shook her head before glancing back to Coran. “Is this—is it only them, though?” she stammered, apparently on the same wavelength that Lance was.

Coran narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips as he thought, and quickly flicked through the different views and then back to the initial radar he’d pulled up. “It… appears to just be the one,” he confirmed, though there was a question in his voice.

“Are there more coming, do you think?” Hunk asked, and the screen returned to the video of the Galran jet. It was getting closer, now, close enough that Lance could almost make out a face behind the purple-tinged windshield. Definitely a Galra. “Should we ready the defenses?”

“I’ll activate the particle barrier,” Allura said decisively, already typing away at the screen in front of her. “Lance, Pidge, get to your Lions—two should be more than plenty to send them away—”

“No.”

The room stilled, and while Lance’s eyes were the first to find Keith quizzically, the others weren’t far behind.

Keith had gone rigid. And pale as a sheet. His lips pressed together tightly, something utterly unreadable in his eyes. He exhaled sharply and offered a small shake of his head, gaze locked on the video feed. “You don’t need the Lions,” he said, and his voice was weirdly calm. “Or the particle barrier. She’s from the Blade.”

A little bit of the tension seemed to melt out of the room. For everyone but Keith, that is. Lance narrowed his eyes slightly at him. “I knew it.”

Dark, purple, stormy eyes cut to him. “Knew _what?”_

“You _did_ go AWOL on the Blade!” Lance cried, throwing his hands up slightly in an over-exaggerated gesture. He turned on his heel, pointing an accusatory finger at Keith. “I knew it! Called it from day one—”

“Uh, Lance?” Pidge cut in, voice hitching slightly. “Maybe you should look at this…”

 Lance continued on, unbothered, shoving his pointed finger into Keith’s chest.  “You went _AWOL—”_

 _“—_ seriously _,_ Lance—”

“—and now they’re sending an agent to—”

“— _Lance!”_

Pidge’s voice had risen sharply, forcing her interruption to be heard, her eyes wide and locked on the video as she shook her head. “Quiznak, Lance— _shut up._ For once in your life just… stop talking. _”_

Now, Pidge told him to shut up a lot. A lot a lot. But he immediately knew there was something different about it this time. A kind of desperation to it that was unsteady and unfamiliar and very, deeply real. The slight rush of glee he’d felt vanished on a dime. “What? Why? What’s wrong?”

But Pidge only nodded to the video footage, again, at the approaching Galra jet and the Blade sitting inside.

And when Lance followed her gaze, he kind of just. Froze. For a tick.

There was something about that glare…

He blinked, the image of the Blade getting closer and clearer and _quiznak,_ he was going to go into cardiac arrest again. He made some sort of strangled noise, looking to Keith again, who had brought his attention back to the video as well. And Lance looked at the Blade, and then at Keith, and then at the Blade, and then at Keith.

He swallowed. “Why does she—”

But he broke off. Because suddenly, it all made sense.

Why Keith was here, why he’d come home. Suddenly and with no explanation. Why he so adamantly avoided talking about his Blade missions—something Lance had chalked up to the whole _secret society_ thing and hadn’t really questioned as much as he maybe should have. Why, while Blade of Marmora was running itself to death with all of these infiltration missions and covert operations, Keith was _here,_ with them, not out in the field. Why he was taking an impromptu vacation in a place where he felt _safe,_ with people who felt safe, in the middle of a war he took very seriously.

He’d been avoiding something. He’d been avoiding some _one._ And Lance didn’t get a chance to run to the bank before getting sucked up into an intergalactic space war by a magical blue lion, but he’d bet all the money in his right sock that _this_ was that person.

It was like thirteen bucks, but the sentiment was there.

And Lance could feel his heart sink, down, down, through the sole of his left shoe and straight through the floor.

And the saying was curiosity killed the _cat_ , but when you got down to it, the Lions were basically just giant robotic cats, and it was clear now to Lance that he should start taking cliché proverbs more seriously.

The Galra woman was landing the jet, maybe a few meters from where Keith had landed just day cycles ago. When she climbed out, her face, her _scowl_ was clearer than ever. It was familiar, too familiar, on an alien stranger’s face. It was uncanny.

Oh, _quiznak_.

Lance blinked wide-eyed at Keith, heart hammering in his ears as he pointed to the screen. “Is she…?”

But Keith didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, his gaze stayed locked onto the figure in the video, with what seemed like pure exhaustion webbing through his dark irises. He swallowed. Took a breath. Clenched his hands into fists as if steeling himself for a harsh blow.

A handful of ticks passed, and another, all eyes on Keith.

“Well,” he said finally, like a sigh. “This oughta be fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm gonna be honest - I'm not in love with this chapter. Feels a bit scrambled, a bit like I tried to go for something with the storytelling that just didn't work. I spent more time staring blankly at my word document trying to figure out what was so inherently wrong about it than I did actually writing the damn thing. So I'm kinda bummed about that, and I apologize if it's not up to par. 
> 
> But! Plot points! Progression! Lead-in to conflict! sorta Klance! So this chapter had to happen. Even if I'm personally not thrilled with how it came out. I had point A and somehow needed to get to point B and yada yada
> 
> I'm pumped about the next few chapters though and I promise the next ones will make up for all the shortfallings of this one
> 
> (Also Krolia's finally making her appearance so get ready)
> 
> (Also also I love Lance with my heart and soul)
> 
> (Also also also why hasn't he given Keith a hug yet, seriously)


	5. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith and Krolia have a chat, and walls are torn down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all aboard the angst train, folks
> 
> slight TW // mentioned/implied past abuse (nothing graphic, very brief)
> 
> ***Keith's POV*** (with a small Lance POV interlude)

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen.

As soon as Lance had confessed about activating the location systems on the Marmora jet, a pressure had begun to build in his chest. Unyielding and heavy and _hot,_ like anger, or maybe like fear. He wasn’t sure. And as he stared at the video feed, that pressure only continued to build, slowing his breathing and his heart rate and the tensing of his muscles and everything else that happens inside a body. Everything slowed down. Time was sluggish, stretching like an elastic, and all he could do was watch.

He wasn’t completely aware of the silence around them, of the eyes that lingered on him, looking to him for answers. All he could see was her. Real-time footage of her, the only thing moving the speed it should, approaching the Castle with a determined look in her eyes. Lips tightened and jaw set. Quickly, far too quickly, when nothing else was moving.

God. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t _ready—_

“So it _was_ your mom.”

The eyes that had been watching him carefully, so focused and intent on him, drifted to the Yellow Paladin, who was peering curiously at the screen. The only one to break the silence.

Keith blinked for a minute, trying to get time to start ticking again. “I—what?”

Hunk brought his gaze to Keith’s, eyes wide and a little bit concerned, but eyebrows raised as he pointed to the screen. “Remember? We were talking about how you didn’t know how Galra you were, and I asked who it was in your family, and I asked if it was your mom? You said you didn’t know?”

Still, Keith only blinked. His heart still didn’t feel like it was beating, and everything felt heavy _._

Hunk frowned, the small smile flickering from his lips. “The Weblum? Remember? Giant awful space worm that tried to kill us with lasers and stomach acid?”

“Yeah,” Keith got out, a little choked. “I—I remember, Hunk.” Kind of hard to forget taking a field trip through an alien’s digestive tract, after all, but also— _what?_

Hunk brightened a little, returning his attention to the screen with a nod. “Well, I’m just saying. Now we know, right? It was your mom. Which makes you half Galra. Which is—” He paused, tilting his head. “—unexpected? I mean, half is fifty percent, and fifty percent is a lot of percent? But you don’t look Galra at all. I was expecting it to be, like, a grandparent, or great-grandparent. Or something. Some smaller percent than fifty, but—it was your mom. So. Fifty.”

Keith’s stomach twisted. He opened his mouth silently and shut it again when no words came out. His eyes flicked from Hunk back to the screen, speechless.

Hunk always rambled when he got nervous. Words rolling off his tongue before his brain could register what they were. He was kind of like Lance in that way, Keith knew, though Lance rambled tirelessly regardless of emotional state.

But Hunk’s words didn’t sound nervous _._ It wasn’t his _about-to-get-blown-up_ rambling, it was his _mechanical-engineering-gobbledygook_ rambling. Observational and factual and usually way over Keith’s head, but comforting to hear nonetheless because it meant someone had _some_ rational idea of what was going on. And there was no judgement in his words, nothing close to anger or disgust or distrust. And maybe that would just come later, but for now, the return of Keith’s long-lost, very Galran mother didn’t seem to faze Hunk. He seemed to be taking it in stride.

Which was more than Keith could say about himself.

“Unless—” Hunk’s eyes grew wide and a little bit alarmed as he looked to the ex-paladin again, when his silence stretched on. “Unless this _isn’t_ your mom, of course?” he backpedaled, oblivious to the shutting-down of Keith’s higher functioning. “In which case, man, there’s a Blade agent running around with your face, only, y’know. Puple. And Galra.” He turned again, squinting at the screen. “It’s gotta be her, right? She glares the same way you do.”

Keith blinked blindly, something foreign bubbling up in his chest. It was something that straddled the line between hysterical laughter and breaking down entirely, but he swallowed it back.  With it, his heart was beating again, far too quickly and far too loudly. “Yeah,” he got out weakly. His eyes scanned over the rest of the team, who looked on with mixed looks of concern and sympathy, and offered a small nod. “Yeah, that’s her. Um—her... name’s Krolia? Met her a few days ago on an extraction mission.”

He risked glancing around again nervously. And he wasn’t sure what his eyes were saying, but it must’ve been something loud, because his gaze latched onto Lance’s for a moment and, without hesitation, the paladin reached out to take one of Keith’s hands in his own. Earlier squabbling forgotten entirely.

Keith hadn’t realized his hands had balled into fists, hadn’t realized how badly they’d started shaking. Not until Lance began gently unfurling his tightened fingers, soft but insistent. When they were finally unclenched, still shaking, Lance just held on.

Someone slipped their arm through his on his other side, and when he glanced down, Pidge leaned her head against his shoulder, tucking in close to his side despite the way her eyes still watched the video feed.  “What do you want to do?” she asked him, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket.

Keith felt his eyes shift, moving from one person to another, but he wasn’t really seeing anything. He swallowed. “I don’t know.”

His eyes flicked to the video feed. Krolia was just outside the Castle’s gates, now, waiting to be granted entrance. Typing away on the communicator in the arm of her Marmora uniform.

 _She left you,_ a voice in the back of his head snarled again, and Keith was angry. He was angry and he was scared and he was sad. His chest was tight, and there was something boiling under his skin. _She abandoned you._ Foster homes and orphanages and abandonment. The cycle of his life.

She must’ve had her reasons. The better part of Keith _knew_ that, the better part of Keith wanted to forgive her for that. Another part would never forgive himself if he did.

His gaze locked on Shiro, who watched him with concerned, steady eyes. The only thing that was steady, aside from Hunk’s words, and Lance’s hand around his, and Pidge’s head on his shoulder. The room was tipping around him, and he felt sick.

Keith wet his lips, pushing down the nausea that threatened to make him keel over. He couldn’t avoid her forever. He knew that. He just wasn’t prepared to see her so soon.

It was jarring, like an unexpected brick to the face. And was still too angry _,_ to face her in the way he wanted; his blood was running hot under his skin, and his heart was racing, and there was a cruel voice in his head that sounded a lot like a projecting little boy, hurt beyond his years.

He didn’t want to be angry with her. He especially didn’t want to be angry when he finally got the nerve to face her. Because then his words would be sharp, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want his words to be sharp. He didn’t want his anger to twist his voice into something condemning, something harsh and hurtful. He wanted to hear her. He wanted to listen. He wanted to understand. 

Because it was clear, in the few moments they’d spent together, that she was anything but uncaring.  _I’ll never leave you again,_ she’d said. At the time, he hadn’t realized the weight of the words. But she was being held at gunpoint, and there was a sword against his throat, and she was a trained Blade of Marmora agent who compromised the integrity of a mission to protect him _._ The meaning of that, now, was crystal clear to him. She was anything but _uncaring._

He didn’t want to be angry with her, and yet here she was, in the flesh, and all Keith could feel was an unwelcome heat resonating from somewhere deep in his bones.

But it made sense. Because anger was familiar to him. He knew what to do with it. He could fight, he could snap, he could push. It’s what he’d been doing his entire life. It’s what he did when everything else became too much to handle. Because he knew anger, he was familiar with anger. Anger was safe. He _remembered_ anger.

He remembered catching the flu one time his foster father had made him sleep outside. He’d curled up on the porch, under the tarp meant to protect the firewood, using a log as a pillow. He remembered when it started to rain. He remembered tugging on the locked door uselessly. He remembered being sick for weeks. He was eight, and he was angry.

He remembered his social worker picking him up from his fourth foster home. Carting him away like a bag of dirty laundry. They didn’t care that his foster brother had punched him first, had pushed him against the wall and held an arm to his throat to cut off his breath. Called him names and destroyed the only picture he had of him and his father. All they saw was the blood on Keith’s knuckles and the bruises forming on Trevor’s face. “Too much trouble,” they’d called him, “too violent.” And sent him on his way. He was nine, and he was angry.

He remembered looking at the x-rays with his seventh foster mom. They hadn’t told the doctors that she was the reason he fell down the stairs, and they were curious how a little tumble could result in a broken collarbone. He was eleven, and he was angry.

He remembered sitting for days, weeks, months in the orphanage. There wasn’t a high demand for teenagers. They were too much work, had already been molded into something unsalvageable. Kids were easier. He was twelve. He was thirteen. He was angry.

He remembered getting the letter, stamped with thick, typewriter-like text:  **Welcome to the Galaxy Garrison, fighter pilot!** He remembered packing up his small little life into a single backpack and leaving, leaving, that horrible place full of horrible people and horrible memories. He was fourteen.

He remembered losing the only family he’d ever known.  Pilot error, they’d said on the news. He remembered walking into Iverson’s class with less than he’d ever had. He remembered leaving Iverson’s class with even less than that. He was seventeen.

He remembered sitting alone in a shack, ratty curtains billowing as a dusty, stifling hot breeze came in through the shack’s only window and burned his lungs. It didn’t matter. His only company was a corkboard and some strings with loose ends he couldn’t tie up. He’d never been more alone. He was eighteen.

For everything he could remember, he couldn’t remember her. She hadn’t stuck around long enough for him to remember her. The only memories he had of her were memories of her absence. Her absence, and his anger.

His bones ached. He wasn’t ready.

He glanced at Allura, who was looking at him with an odd mixture of sorrow and too-forced-professionalism. Expression schooled into something regal and poised, but with an ache in her eyes that he felt like a knife. She tilted her head slightly, towards him, eyebrows soft. “Keith?” she prompted carefully. _What do you want us to do?_ her eyes seemed to ask.

He swallowed, glancing around again at the paladins, and his vision was steadier. He tightened his fingers around Lance’s hand without meaning to, but Lance squeezed back without hesitation. Keith’s eyes met his, again, wide and blue and steady.

Steeling his resolve, he looked at the video feed again. “Gotta face the music sooner or later,” he relented, and from the other side of the display, Allura offered him a small smile.

“We stand with you, Keith,” she said quietly, and there was no room in her voice for uncertainty. “Paladin or not. Never doubt that.”

He glanced down at her, the words settling something in his chest.

He nodded, fingers still curled tightly around Lance’s. “Open the gates.”

* * *

Lance didn’t know what to do.

He’d never seen that kind of look in Keith’s eyes before, had never seen him look so… _young._ It was the word that fit best, that fit his wide, wavering eyes. Fit his shaking hands and the way he seemed to deflate into himself. The uncertainty and frustration and the _fear_ that radiated from him like an aura. Like he’d been taken prisoner by bad memories, rendered into something small, and young, and hurt.

He did what he could. He took Keith’s hands, loosened the fingers that were curled into his palms so tightly he was very nearly drawing blood.

His words would do nothing, he knew. So he didn’t speak.

Instead, he held on. And Keith’s grip might’ve been painfully tight on his fingers, but that was okay. Because Keith was holding on, too, and that was enough. That made it worth it.

He didn’t let go.

* * *

It hadn’t taken long for the gates to open, and Coran had offered to fetch their guest and bring her back up to the bridge.

After that, everything became very real.  Very, very quickly.

The doors opened automatically, as they always did when someone got close enough to trigger them, and… there she was. Trailing behind Coran politely as he gestured grandly to the bridge upon their entrance, clearly laying the enthusiasm on a bit thick in an attempt to soften whatever train wreck was about to come.

She had a head and a half on him, easy, and it was a little startling in the moment because it was so blatantly clear to Keith just how  _Galra_ she was. Standing there, with him, in the bridge of the Castle of Lions, so distinctly different from the people he was used to seeing here. Alien. Tall and purple and moving with a quiet, foreign gait that he could only really label as being predatory _._

It was just how Galra _moved._ Keith knew that. He’d grown accustomed to it, even, being with the Blade for so long. It was still a little unsettling to see in a place like the Castle.

“And this is the main control deck,” Coran was explaining proudly, as they approached the center of the room where the group waited.

Lance nudged Keith with his elbow, his eyes wide as he watched her. “Dude,” he hissed, not-at-all subtly, “ _dude._ She’s like your _twin._ But. Taller.  So much cooler, and without the dumb mullet. _”_

“This is freaky,” Hunk agreed, his voice low. “This is—I’m seeing double. This is weird.”

Keith merely tightened his jaw, not responding. He wasn’t sure his voice would work if he tried.

Her eyes scanned over them all momentarily, hesitating on Keith only a moment longer than the others before ducking her head and lowering to one knee respectfully as she addressed Allura. Similar to how Kolivan had done, what felt like eternities ago.

 “Princess Allura,” she greeted, and her voice was steady as ever, pleasant and polite and poised. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for welcoming me to the Castle of Lions, it truly is an honor.”

Allura smiled and ducked her head into a nod, a silent, too-formal invitation to stand. “The pleasure is mine,” she returned easily, as Krolia rose to her feet again. “Any agent of Marmora is an ally of ours, and will always be welcome to the Castle.”

Krolia smiled a little, and the way it sat on her face made Keith’s heart clench painfully.  “Well, the gesture is appreciated,” she replied, and her voice was still smooth, still polite as her eyes turned to the others. “And you must be the rest of Voltron,” she continued, scanning them with a small smile. “It’s an honor to meet you, Paladins.”

Lance’s fingers slipped free of Keith’s, and Keith’s stomach dropped through the floor as the Red Paladin took a confident step forward.

“Back atcha,” he chirped around a growing grin, extending a hand to her. Krolia grasped it uncertainly, and he smiled wider, giving it a firm shake. “It’s Krolia, right? I’m Lance, the Red Paladin,” he introduced, and nodded across the arc of paladins.  “That’s Shiro, the Black Paladin. He’s the head of Voltron and also our grumpy space dad.”

Shiro opened his mouth, frowning, but Lance hurried on.

“And that’s Hunk, the Yellow Paladin—engineer, resident five-star chef and all-around great dude—”

“—Aw, buddy,” Hunk muttered, shifting on his feet, “not in front of the scary Blade agent... Not that you’re scary!” he added quickly, eyes widening. “Not at all. It’s just. I’m pretty sure everyone in the Blade of Marmora could murder me with only their little finger, so. That’s scary. Not _you_ specifically. Not that—not that I don’t think you _could,_ y’know, murder me with only your little finger, or anything, I’m not—I’m not _doubting_ your ability to _—_ ” He broke off, wincing. “I’m Hunk.”

Krolia’s smile twitched, and there was amusement in her odd eyes. The same deep purple as Keith’s own eyes, surrounded by the trademark Galra-gold, they seemed to soften a bit as she watched the Yellow Paladin squirm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hunk,” she greeted easily, much to Hunk’s apparent relief.

Lance rolled his eyes, turning slightly to stand by Krolia’s side, and continued the introductions. The sight of them standing next to each other made Keith’s stomach flip. “And the short one is Pidge,” he continued, “Green Paladin and our go-to-gal for anything related to security or technology. Basically a genius little gremlin.”

Krolia hesitated, her gaze flicking from where she had exchanged nods with Pidge to regard Lance again. “A… gremlin?” she repeated, unsure. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m familiar with that term.”

“You don’t need to be, ma'am,” Shiro cut in, giving him a pointed look. “Lance, knock it off.”

But Lance just rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Shiro,” he muttered, and elbowed Krolia gently. “See what I mean? Space Dad.” Before she could respond, Lance was nodding again, this time to Keith, on a roll and apparently not stopping. “And then—well, you know Keith. Resident space-ninja, former Red Paladin, current Blade agent —”

“You were a Paladin of Voltron?”

She cut Lance’s rambling off, her eyebrows drawn together as if trying to solve some kind of complex problem, and her eyes were locked on him. Keith squirmed under her gaze, the tension Lance had been meticulously working out of the room returning in a solid and insistent pull. He held her gaze for a moment, his heart beating quickly again.

It was silly to think that a couple of jokes and some light banter would patch over that gaping wound in his chest.

He nodded slowly and swallowed, still holding her gaze. “Yeah,” he affirmed, his voice low. “I—I piloted the Red Lion. For a while, at least. Then the Black Lion for a bit, till I left and joined the Blade.”

Her eyes were unreadable. Narrowed in thought with eyebrows still drawn, she frowned at him. After a tick of uncomfortable, heavy silence, she shook her head slowly. There was something soft in the set of her jaw, in the pull of her mouth. “I didn’t know.”

He nodded, gaze hardening slightly. “Yeah, well. I’m willing to bet there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

The puzzled look melted from Krolia’s face, something sad taking its place. Sad and full of regret. “I suppose that’s fair,” she acknowledged, and her words were quiet.

She had a nice voice. He’d noticed it on the Galra battleship, during the mission. Strong, commanding, steady, powerful, but also… soothing. Low and nice and warm. He wondered how much warmer his childhood would’ve been, with that voice around.

Something heavy tightened in his stomach. “You can tell Kolivan I’m not coming back, yet.”

Krolia tilted her head slightly, her eyebrows drawing together. “I—what?”

“I assume he sent you to come bring me back?”

She studied him, then, for a handful of ticks, and Keith forced himself to stay calm. Snapping at her wouldn’t solve anything. Eventually, Krolia shook her head a little. “Kolivan didn’t send me, Keith.”

His breath hitched in his throat. “Oh.”

“In fact,” she continued, ducking her head slightly, “Kolivan advised me to stay away. Told me that it was a bad idea, and that I should give you some space.”

Keith snorted. It was a short, bitter thing that he despised, but couldn’t entirely help. “Kolivan’s a smart guy,” he said coolly, his voice hard. Krolia looked up again, towards him, her eyes intense. “You should’ve listened.”

And despite the bite to his words, she just smiled a little, and it was small, and it was sad. “Perhaps,” she agreed, seeming tired. “Then again, I’ve always had trouble following orders." A pause. "I hear that’s something we have in common.”

Keith's stomach twisted. “No.” The word came out through his teeth. He tightened his jaw and closed his eyes, trying to reel in the bitterness saturating his voice. “No, you don’t get to say things like that.”

There was a beat of silence, followed by a weary sigh. “Keith…”

“ _No,”_ he said again, eyes snapping open. “Absolutely not.”

Something hardened in Krolia’s expression, and she was guarded again, that softness that was there earlier gone in a tick. “Keith,” she said again, and it was shorter, hard. “We need to talk.”

He nodded, just as short, just as hard. “Yeah. We do.”

Krolia’s jaw tightened, and Keith ignored the way the shape of her face was _familiar,_ the way her eyes were familiar as they narrowed, a spark of persistent fire in purple irises. She held his gaze for a moment, every bit as stubborn as his own, before glancing around at the rest of the group. She pressed her lips together and looked to him again. “Perhaps there’s somewhere we can speak in private,” she said finally, and her voice had lost a bit of its edge, a bit of that hardness.

Allura took a step forward, reaching a hand towards them but drawing back before making contact. She settled for folding her fingers together and dropping them in front of herself as she frowned, looking between the two nervously. “We can give you the room to discuss, if you’d like—”

“No.” The thought of leaving, of being alone with her, pressed at Keith’s chest painfully. He shook his head, aware of his friends’ eyes on him in concern but only holding Allura’s gaze for a moment before regarding Krolia again. His mother. “I’d—I’d like them to stay, if that’s alright.”

Something shifted in Krolia’s eyes, something Keith couldn’t identify. “Keith—”

“They’re the only family I’ve ever had.”

He hadn’t really meant to say it aloud. Hadn’t meant to throw the hurtful, yet true, words in her face. Because nothing said _I don’t feel safe with you_ better than claiming to want his family at his side while he faced her. It was a slap in the face he had never wanted to deliver.

But it was done. And Krolia’s voice cut off with her slight wince, and now a hint of guilt twisted in Keith’s chest alongside the sorrow and the hurt and the anger. What a vile, nauseating concoction.

He took a breath, shaking his head. Pushing back that weight in his gut, that hot, insistent pressure in his lungs. “I’d like for them to stay,” he tried again, forcing his voice to be calmer. “If that’s alright with them, and with you.”

The paladins didn’t respond, but Hunk’s large hand settled on his shoulder for a brief instant, warm and steady, and he took that as a yes.

Krolia watched him for a tick, and then another, her expression still unreadable. After a moment, she offered him a smile and ducked her head in a nod, but it was sad, and it was small, and it was all-too forced. “Of course,” she agreed, her voice controlled. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

 _Not having this conversation,_ a voice in his head said nastily, but he pushed it away.

Before he could say another word, she was lifting her head and looking at him again, eyebrows drawing together. “I never wanted to leave.”

The words were said so easily, so honestly, that Keith’s breath stopped in his throat. Apparently, there was no beating around the bush with estranged Galra mothers. Good to know.

Krolia shook her head slightly, frown deepening. “I never wanted to leave you,” she repeated. “I hope you know that.”

Keith swallowed. “No,” he said honestly, and gave a quick shake of his head, breathing again. “I didn’t know that."

Krolia sighed. “Keith—”

“You know, for a while, I convinced myself you were dead.” His voice was harsh again, sharp and bitter, and there was a quiver building up in the base of his throat. He tightened his jaw against it, speaking through his teeth. “It was easier to accept than the fact that you didn’t _want me.”_

Her stone mask cracked, just a little, pain in her eyes. “It was never that, Keith,” she denied quietly, and shook her head. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want you.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” he seethed, heart hammering in his own ears. “You didn’t even leave a _note._ You just _left.”_

Krolia closed her eyes. “I had to. I had no other choice. If I wanted you safe, I needed you as far away from the war as I could get you.”

Keith’s hands balled into fists at his sides and he took a step closer to her, shaking his head. “And you couldn’t have _told me_ that? A letter, a-a message, a fucking—post-it note on the fridge?”

“I _couldn’t.”_ It was the first time her voice showed any hint of unevenness, and when she opened her eyes again, they were pleading. “I _couldn’t_ leave a note. I couldn’t risk you trying to find me, Keith.”

“And thinking you were dead, or that you abandoned me, is a better alternative to you? Leaving me with that to carry around was _better_?”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” she snapped, that hurt morphing into something else, the first spark of a larger fire. “You survived. That was my priority.”

“I survived,” Keith parroted back to her, and laughed. “Yeah, Krolia—I survived _._ Kudos to you. That's some great parenting.”

Her eyes narrowed, lips twitching a little as she glared. “If I hadn’t left, they would’ve found us _.”_ There was no room for hesitation in her voice, not a lick of doubt in her words. “They would’ve found us, and they would’ve killed us all, or worse _,_ and taken Earth in the process. I had to leave.”

“And I understand that,” Keith got out, and he did. “I understand war _,_ I do. Sometimes you have to make hard choices. You had a job to do, and it was more important than me, or you, or any single person, and that’s _fine._ I _understand_ that, I really do. But you—” His throat clogged up, pinching off his words.

He wouldn’t cry. Not here, not now.

He let out a shuddering breath. “You didn’t just leave _,_ you _threw me_ _away._ Can you try to understand what that feels like? To have your own mother never care enough to even leave a  _goodbye note?"_

Krolia’s eyes hardened still, and she shook her head, taking a step closer. “Don’t you dare _,”_ she snarled, some ground-out vocalization from deep in her chest, and it was never more obvious then in that moment that she _wasn’t human_. “Don’t you _ever_ say I never cared about you. Don’t you dare. I have always cared about you, I have never _stopped_ caring about you.”

“Well what was I supposed to think?” he fired back, just as deep, just as sharp. “I was alone. I had _no one._ I grew up thinking you didn’t _want me,_ thinking no one wanted me!”

“Of course I wanted you!” she sneered back. “Why do you think I left my knife with your father?”

“ _I don’t know!”_ he snapped, his voice breaking. He grit his teeth, the heat in his chest burning deep into his muscles, into his bones. “He didn’t exactly stick around long enough for me to _ask.”_

And that… that caught her attention, again, caught her off-guard. Whatever words she had locked and loaded died on her lips, and she closed her mouth slowly, blinking. Gradually, she straightened, schooling her expression into something calmer. “What do you mean?” she asked, and her voice was careful, controlled.

Keith’s jaw tightened, reigning in his own anger and hurt and forcing his fists to unclench. “I mean Dad’s gone, too,” he explained simply, but the words were still clipped. “Left when I was six.”

A spark of something in her eyes. It resembled anger, but a new type of anger than before. A hotter anger. “Where did he go?”

“Dunno. Don’t care.”

Krolia closed her eyes, exhaling. Her fingers— _claws,_ Keith noted numbly—curled into fists at her sides, before uncurling again. She opened her eyes. “He was supposed to tell you,” she said, and her voice was much softer. “When you were old enough to understand, he was supposed to tell you. He wasn’t supposed to leave.”

_You weren’t supposed to leave._

The angry fire in the pit of his stomach flickered slightly, and he pushed the thought away. She looked… so tired. Tired, and worn, and weary. He sighed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

But she wasn’t convinced. She shook her head slightly, watching him with saddened eyes. “If he left, then who…” She didn’t finish. She didn’t really need to.

There was that quiver at the base of his throat, again, something unstable building there. A laugh or a sob, he couldn’t tell. “No one,” he got out, and it was a little strangled. “A lot of people. I dunno.” He hesitated. “Spent a lot of time in orphanages,” he continued, “and group homes. With foster parents.”

Krolia’s eyes grew slightly. Concerned and sad and unsure. She shook her head. “What are—what are _foster_ parents?”

That feeling in his chest grew and he let it out in a harsh laugh, his eyes stinging. “The people the government hands you off to when they have no place else for you to go.”

But Krolia only shook her head. “I don’t think I understand…”

 “Orphans,” Keith snapped, “people without parents, without families? Kids whose parents are in prison, or whose parents have died _,_ or are drug addicts, or have left them _._ The kids nobody else wants? _”_

Krolia swallowed. Hesitated, as if fighting to keep her composure intact. “I wanted you.”

Keith shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You weren’t there _.”_

“I wanted you safe _.”_ The words were a plea. “I needed you _safe,_ Keith, I was only trying to keep you alive _.”_

“Well, here I am.” He gestured vaguely to himself, and something in his chest twisted painfully, because this was _mean._ This was cruel, and not what he wanted to be, but the words came anyways. “Alive. So you can check that one off your bucket list.”

Krolia took a step closer, again, shaking her head. “I never wanted to _leave you,”_ she said again. The repeated words seemed heavy in her throat, and they were certainly heavy in Keith’s stomach. “It was—it was better this way.”

Keith grit his teeth. “Better for _who?”_

“For _you!”_ Krolia’s words were a growl, insistent, frustrated. Sad. Grieved.  “It was better for _you!_ War is no place for a child, especially not this war. Not Zarkon’s war. Do you know what the Galran Empire _does_ with half-breeds, kit? What would've happened had you gotten tangled up in this, if they got their hands on you?”

Keith’s mouth went dry, nausea churning over in his stomach. He closed his mouth, whatever retort poised and ready fading from his lips. He tightened his jaw against the slight tremble in his chin.

Krolia’s expression was still hard, was still angry, but it wasn’t directed at Keith. That much was clear to him. “Nothing good,” she continued, and her voice was harsh. She shook her head. “If I’d stayed, they would’ve found us. They would have killed me, and your father, and would’ve done _unspeakable_ things to you. Despicable things.  If I’d left a note, there was no way to keep you from _looking,_ and I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t risk—” She broke off, leaving her thought hanging in the air.

Keith swallowed. His hands were shaking. He couldn’t speak.

His mother took a breath. “I couldn’t risk you getting involved in this,” she pressed on, her voice quieter, restrained. Her eyes were sad, wavering as they watched him, shining with guilt. “I was trying to protect you. You’re just a kit, Keith, you’re… you’re _my_ kit _.”_ The words sounded like a plea. “You’re my _son.”_

There was a beat of silence. Heavy, long, hammering heartbeats.

“I’m no one’s son.”

The words were low, little more than a whisper, quivering as his voice broke. They left his lips before he could stop them and Krolia flinched, stung, and his stomach churned again because he didn’t want to hurt her. All he was doing was hurting her.

He closed his burning eyes and shook his head. _I’m sorry,_ he thought, _I’m so sorry._

“I can’t do this,” he said instead. Because that pressure in his chest was unbearable, quivering and raw and painful, and he needed to stop _hurting her_. He wiped a hand across his face hastily as he opened his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I—I just…I can't do this.”

Krolia reached a hand out to him, but drew back before making contact. “Keith...”

He stepped away from her, shaking his head. No. No, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t—he couldn’t _do this._ He couldn’t hurt her like this.

His heart hammered in his ears, and he couldn’t breathe. _I’m sorry,_ he thought again, as he made his way towards the door. Away from his anger, away from her, away from the hurt he put in her eyes. His hurried footsteps were the only sound in the otherwise still, silent room, and he was scared. Terrified.

_I’m so sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, my poor little angry boy. What am I gonna do with you
> 
> Also I love Krolia??? A lot?? also she's just as sassy/firey/emotionally constipated as Keith is ok I don't make the rules
> 
> Not a ton of keith/paladin interaction this go-around, but keith was a little busy arguing with mom. Fret not, there's resolution, fluff, paladin!family feels, and klance on the horizon as we head on into the home stretch
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> EDIT: I know we now know what happened with Keith's dad (died some kind of fire, preusmably trying to save someone from it) but I promise there's a reason he "left" keith in this fic and didn't just die, ok, that is all


	6. Absolute Refractory Period

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Underneath the jokes and dramatics and cheeky grins, Lance just really cares about his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and... here's some more angst because my poor child has some serious shit to work through
> 
> here there be klance
> 
> ***LANCE'S POV***

When neurons fire, they propagate electrical pulses along their length in what’s known as an _all-or-none response._

This means that either the neuron fires, or it doesn’t. There is no change in intensity of firing, and they can’t fire halfway, or a third of the way to completion. If they fire, a rapid depolarization of membrane potential down their length, it is an entire, complete event.

And as they fire, they undergo what’s known as an _absolute refractory period,_ following the pulse along the neuron _._ It’s a period of repolarization, during which that area of the neuron cannot be depolarized again, cannot fire another action potential. The neuron is hyperpolarized before returning to its baseline, resting membrane potential.

In English, neurons work kind of like explosions.

Something sets them off, and then there’s pretty much nothing that can stop them. And after they go off, there’s that odd, brief moment where nothing else can happen. That moment after an explosion that feels like cotton ears and stopped hearts. Motionless and noiseless and a little bit unreal.

That’s what this felt like. Like the quiet after an explosion. An absolute refractory period.

It was only a handful of ticks—and some distant part of Lance’s mind knew that—but it felt like they watched the empty doorway for a small eternity.

It was as if Keith had plunged them into space itself in his wake, vast and still and silent. An unwelcome iciness was creeping under his skin, chilling Lance to the bones, and his heart beat too-loudly in his ears.  There was an odd mixture of concern, and longing, and ambient anger choking him. Forming a lump in his throat he couldn’t swallow down.

 _I’m no one’s son_ , Keith had said. And the words had a big ol’ crack down the middle, and if they felt like a knife in the chest to Lance, he could only imagine what they felt like to Krolia.

Keith’s mother. Blade of Marmora member. Galra. Standing here, in the Castle, uniform gleaming with that distinct, otherworldly purple. Tall and strong and clear with her words but wearing a dark kind of exhaustion in her eyes that Lance felt like a persistant ache.

It took a painful amount of ticks before she turned to them, again, and her expression was unreadable. “Perhaps I should have heeded Kolivan’s warning,” she said finally, and while her voice had taken on that respectful, impersonal tone, again, it was lowered slightly. Quiet. Resigned. Her eyes scanned them over before dropping slightly. “This was a mistake. I apologize for bringing this to your home, Paladins.”

She brought her gaze back up to find Allura’s eyes, which seemed as wide as Lance imagined his own were. “Princess,” she addressed, and offered a tight smile that definitely didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you for your time and hospitality, but I think it’s best if I go.”

And something clenched in Lance’s chest at the words. Because she was going to leave. She was going to _leave him_. Again.

But before he could say a word, before he could grit his teeth and protest, before he could even narrow his eyes into a glare, Shiro took a step forward.

“Wait,” he stopped her, reaching out as if to take hold of her shoulder before hesitating, and dropping his arm back to his side.

Krolia’s eyes flicked to him, shoulders straightening slightly, but not saying a word. She waited.

Shiro pressed his lips together tightly for a moment. His eyebrows drew together, and his eyes were just as unreadable as hers, but he held her gaze steadily. “Keith hasn’t—” The words faltered, and he let out a sigh. It was a tired, grey kind of sound. “The foster care system on Earth is flawed,” he said instead, and gave a small shake of his head. “I don’t know what it’s like on other planets, but on Earth, life isn’t great to kids in a system like that. It… it hasn’t been easy on him.”

Krolia’s jaw tightened slightly and she took in a breath through her nose, but she didn’t respond.

Shiro’s eyes softened a little, though they stayed insistent, every bit the protecting leader that he was.  “If you leave now, he’ll never believe you plan on staying. He’s had too many people turn their backs on him for that.”

“I’m not turning my back on him.” The words were immediate, solid and steady even as she clenched her jaw tighter. She shook her head, and it was adamant. “I can assure you, Black Paladin, I am never turning my back on him again.”

Shiro nodded, still holding her eyes, his own intense. “Then you’re going to have to prove it to him. Leaving now won’t help you do that.”

Krolia’s eyes wavered. Just a little, just enough to be noticeable, but the pain that shone through the cracks of her mask made Lance’s heart lurch. And when she smiled, it was solemn and earnest and full of regret, and it sat on her lips the same way forced smiles sat on Keith’s, whenever he was getting lost in his head and trying to hide it. “I appreciate your words, paladin, but coming here has done more harm than good,” she said, and while her voice was soft, it was steady. The forced smile flicked away. “I fear all I’ve done is hurt him further. That was never my intention.”

Shiro nodded, eyebrows drawing together seriously. This time when he reached out, his fingers touched her arm gently, metal against fabric, clearly meant to be comforting. “Look. Maybe—maybe Coran and the Princess can show you the rest of the Castle, and we can go talk to him. Calm him down.”

The Blade watched him uncertainly, before shaking her head slowly. “I don’t want to push too much.”

 _I don’t want to push him away,_ the words said, loud and clear. _I don’t want to push him away again._

Allura took a step forward, too, taking up Shiro’s flank and offering a soft smile. “Keith is a remarkable person,” she spoke honestly, “with a less-than-remarkable temper. He’s brash and impulsive at times, and it doesn’t always reflect how deeply he is feeling, or how deeply he cares. Please—” The Princess hesitated, the smile fading as she shook her head. “Please don’t let his hesitance or frustration discourage you from waiting him out.”

Krolia’s eyes were conflicted, something between resignation and what Lance could only label as _longing._ She pressed her lips together, but there was less steel in it than a moment ago. “He left Base to get away from this,” she said, and her voice was low, again, solemn, but still steady. “If he says he needs time, or space, I am in no position to question that.”

“Don’t you think you’ve given him enough space?”

Lance didn’t realize where the words came from until all eyes turned to him.

He swallowed, his heart stuttering. “I just—I mean,” he stammered, “he’s not…” His palms were sweaty, and Krolia watched him with those alien, guarded eyes. He swallowed, steeling his resolve because, well, the damage was pretty much done at this point. “I just mean, don’t you think you’ve lost enough time already?”

Krolia’s eyebrows drew together slightly, but she didn’t seem _angry,_ or offended, so Lance continued.

“Keith’s stubborn. He’s—he’s _stupidly_ stubborn. And he internalizes things and bottles everything up and refuses to acknowledge it, which makes him stew in things like this, which means you might _need_ to push him a little bit or you’re not going to get anywhere.”

There was a beat of silence. Lance didn’t pull his eyes from Krolia’s, violet irises bright and familiar even through the slight golden shine. Steady eyes, eyes lost in uncertainty but also very, very present.

Sighing, steadying his breath, Lance took a step forward to the Black Paladin’s other side. “Like Shiro said,” he continued, “if you leave now, it’s not going to help. Give him time, but stick around while you do. Let Coran and Allura give you a tour of the Castle, go kill a few vargas on the training deck, I dunno—kick your shoes off and find a bunk to go take a nap in. Whatever. We’ll talk to him, try and decrypt whatever’s going on in that stupid mullet, and see what happens. Just—just don’t leave. Okay? Don’t leave.”

Lance felt a hand on him—big, cool, metal fingers wrapping around his shoulder, and Lance felt a rush of pride when Shiro squeezed them slightly. Maybe he could do this right-hand-man thing, after all.

Krolia still watched him, with that odd, intense stare, before bringing her eyes to rest on Shiro. And then Allura. Then Coran, and Pidge, and Hunk, who had stepped closer too, in unity.

The steel melted from her expression, and she looked back to Lance, holding his gaze with tired, sad eyes as she offered a small nod. “I am glad he’s found safety in you, and in this place,” she confided, and her voice was quiet, honest. “Thank you for being a family to my son, Paladins.”

Lance felt something clog in throat, some tightening in his chest, and he _promptly_ clamped down on it with an iron fist. Because there was no way in hell he was going to start crying, now, in front of the terrifying alien that happened to be Keith’s mother. No way.

Before anyone could recover from her words, she turned to regard Allura again. “If the offer still stands,” she continued, and her voice was steadier with resolution, “a tour of the rest of the Castle would be lovely, Princess.”

Allura smiled again, genuine, and she squeezed Shiro’s shoulder before stepping forward. “Please,” she said easily, “Allura is quite alright—there’s no need to be so formal. And of course, Coran and I would be happy to show you around.”

Krolia ducked her head in thanks as Coran stepped forward and gestured for her to follow. She glanced over the paladins, again, giving another slight nod, before doing so.

Instead of following them out, Allura paused, and turned to Lance. She brought her fingers up to his arm lightly, and he found her odd, kaleidoscope eyes smiling at him. He held her gaze for a moment with his own, and after a tick, she dropped her head into a nod with a smile tugging at her lips. Approval or pride or something in between, Lance felt some tightness leave his chest. He returned the nod, his own lips tugging into a smile as well.

When she turned to go, when her fingers left his arm, there was that lump in his throat again, a threatening sting in his eyes. And again, he pushed it away.

Once the door closed behind Allura, Shiro turned to the team with determination in his eyes. “Let’s find him.”

Lance felt his smile turn wry, and he raised his eyebrows. “Twenty GAC says I know exactly where he is.”

* * *

Keith wasn’t on the training deck.

Lance didn’t even _have_ twenty GAC.

They moved as a group towards the lounge, a second guess, but didn’t get that far. Because a few hallways down, and there he was—stalking towards the residential wing of the Castle, undoubtedly towards his room, with clenched fists at his sides.

Lance hurried forward, catching his elbow in an attempt to halt him, but Keith just pulled away and continued on.

Lance was expecting a look of anger, a look of irritation or annoyance. What he didn’t expect was for Keith to duck his head, bring a fist to his eyes to wipe away the wetness that had pooled there, and ignore him.

Again, he hurried forward, catching Keith’s arm and holding on, this time, the rest of the team hot on his heels. “Keith,” he pled, a little breathless. “Keith, please.”

Keith tightened his jaw a little, but slowed his pace, still not looking at Lance. He shook his head. “I yelled at her.”

Lance tightened his hold on Keith’s arm, not letting him tear away again, and frowned. He felt his eyebrows draw together. “You—what?”

Keith stopped abruptly in his tracks, closing his eyes. “I yelled at her,” he repeated, and his voice was strangled.

Lance squeezed his arm, as the team drifted around, closer. Lance winced a little, apologetically, sympathetically, and nodded. “Yeah.”

Keith blinked his eyes open, and the artificial light of the Castle hallways reflected off purple, shining irises. He swallowed and shook his head again. “I really didn’t want to yell at her.”

Lance forced a smile to grow, putting everything he could muster into it but feeling it come up short anyways. “If it helps, she yelled at you, too.”

Keith sighed, and his eyes lifted tiredly to Lance’s. “It doesn’t.”

There was a beat of silence.

Keith took a breath. “I—” He broke off, dropping his gaze to his fingers and picking at his nails. His eyebrows drew together in a frown, and it seemed like he had to force the words out. “I grew up an orphan.”

The words were tinged with something deeply, deeply lonely, and Lance’s chest tightened painfully.

Hunk took a step closer and placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder, gaze soft and understanding. “We know, buddy.”

Keith’s gaze flicked up to Hunk’s for a moment, while Pidge nodded, her expression soft and concerned.  “Yeah,” she agreed, and it was apologetic. “You can’t really… mind-meld into someone else’s head hole without learning a couple things.”

Keith nodded, dropping his gaze. “Right, yeah. No, I—I know, you knew. But I—” Again he broke off, his voice unsteady. He swallowed again, frown deepening. “I don’t think I ever actually said it to you guys. Out loud. And I should’ve.”

Lance heart lurched, and he shook his head, stepping closer. “It’s okay, Keith.”

“It’s not.” There was an adamancy in the words, and it seemed a little out of place, when his voice was so uneven. He tightened his jaw a little and shook his head. “It’s just—hard.” He paused again, lifting his gaze but not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I didn’t know my dad for long. Left when I was six. Went to get the mail and just… never came back.”

The words weren’t any easier to hear the second time around. Something like nausea twisted in Lance’s gut.

“Took three days for him to call CPS, to have someone pick me up,” Keith continued, and his fingers tightened around themselves. “I don’t remember a ton about him, but I remember that.”

Lance inhaled sharply. As much danger as they found themselves in on a regular basis, somehow, this seemed more dangerous. All Lance wanted to do was _protect Keith,_ but he couldn’t. There was nothing he could do to protect him from this.

Keith didn’t deserve to know that kind of pain. _No one_ did, really, but especially not Keith. Never Keith.

But the ex-paladin took a breath, continuing on, oblivious to Lance’s growing desire to wrap him in his arms and quite literally _never let go._

“And I never—” he began, but broke off, exhaling sharply, quickly. “Never knew my mom. Clearly. So.”

Lance, again, took it upon himself to un-ball Keith’s fists, untighten his fingers from the quivering mess they’d squeezed into.

Keith let out a shuddering breath as he did, and let his eyes fall closed again. “And now she’s here.” The words were an exhale, but were quick, like if he didn’t get them out now, they’d be stuck forever in some kind of word-purgatory. “She’s _here,_ she’s alive _,_ and she’s—she’s Galra _._ She’s… _really_ Galra. Which is, y’know, kind of a lot to take in. And I don’t—I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Shiro shook his head, his expression soft. “I don’t think there’s any one way you’re _supposed_ to handle something like this, kiddo.”

Keith opened his eyes to regard Shiro wearily, before shaking his head. His fingers were tight around Lance’s. “Well I don’t think I was supposed to yell at her for trying to keep me safe _,_ that’s for sure.”

Shiro sighed. “You have a right to be upset.”

“Why?” There was an edge to the word, and Keith’s eyes narrowed into something like a glare. He pulled free from Lance’s grip, from Hunk’s hand wrapped around his shoulder, backing up and away from them. “Why do I have any right to be upset at _her,_ when I did the exact same thing she did?”

Shiro’s face fell into a frown, and Lance felt his own expression draw in in confusion. What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean?

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“It means I _left_.” Keith’s eyes found Lance’s, and behind that sharp edge, there was some kind of desolate longing that was full of regret. “It means I walked away, _just like she did.”_

And against his better judgement, months of radio silence and bitterness crept into his voice, and Lance tightened his jaw. “And who’s choice was that, huh? Who made that decision, Keith? Because it wasn’t us.”

“Lance,” Shiro sighed, but the name wavered, and Lance pressed forward.

“We never wanted you to go,” he rolled on, his voice rising. “ _You’re_ the one who made that choice, _you’re_ the one who wanted to leave.”

“I never wanted to leave!” Keith shot back, without hesitation, and there was _pain_ in his eyes as he shook his head. “Of course I didn’t want to leave!”

“Then why did you?”

Keith flinched, then, any retort dying on his lips. He tightened his jaw a little, keeping his eyes on Lance’s. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, low.  Controlled and laced with guilt. “Six paladins,” he said, and shook his head, holding up four fingers on one hand and one on the other. “Five Lions. You did the math before, and you were right. It doesn’t add up.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Lance’s heart felt like it stopped.

“ _Keith,”_ Pidge exhaled sharply. “Keith, _what?”_

Keith’s jaw tightened, and he took a breath, dropping his gaze slightly and refusing to meet their eyes. “Six paladins, five Lions,” he repeated. “Shiro was back. I wasn’t meant to pilot the Black Lion, he was.”

“You said you were leaving to find out more about the Blade of Marmora.” There was a hint of hurt in Hunk’s voice. “You said you wanted to learn more about your heritage.”

Keith winced. “I know,” he said, his voice too-controlled. “And that was part of it, but I wasn’t—I wasn’t good for Black. I wasn’t good for Voltron.”

“Black chose you _,”_ Shiro reminded him, his eyebrows drawing together. His eyes were stern, but concerned—always concerned. “Black chose _you_ to be her paladin, even after I got back.”

“Black also chose Zarkon _,_ and look where that got us.” Keith’s sharp words hung in the air for a moment, and he took a deep breath, eyes on Shiro. “I put the team in danger. We almost _lost Allura._ You’d never let something like that happen, not from a decision you made as the leader.”

“Keith,” Pidge cut in, but Keith just shook his head.

“I didn’t listen to the team,” he reminded them. “I didn’t listen, and I made bad calls because I’m… impulsive, and _hotheaded,_ and maybe that’s just—” His words seemed to get caught in his throat, and he grit his teeth. “Maybe that’s just the Galra in me, but it’s there _,_ and I can’t change it, and I put the team in jeopardy because of it.”

Lance took a step forward, glaring. “So you think we were, what, just gonna give up on you?” There was a pressure in Lance’s chest, a shaky constriction in his throat, and he couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or cry. “That we wanted you to _leave?_ Because you made a reckless, stupid decision?” He flung his hands into the air, shaking his head as Keith brought his eyes to him. “Newsflash, mullet—you make a lot of those decisions. We aren’t planning on _giving up on you_ any time soon. _”_

“Why not?” Keith shot back, and it was low, and there was a crack in the words. “Everyone else has!”

And—yeah. That was definitely not a laugh building in Lance’s chest.

He swallowed. “ _Keith—”_

 _“_ It doesn’t matter,” Keith cut him off, shaking his head and turning away. He started down the hallway again, towards his room. “I left because it’s what was best for Voltron. To keep you _safe_. And she left to keep _me_ safe. I shouldn’t have yelled at her.”

A tick passed where they all just stood there, shocked and stung, before Lance sprang back to life. He took off at a jog to catch up to him, the rest of team close by. But when he caught up to Keith, he didn’t try to halt him, didn’t try to pull him to a stop again. Instead, he caught Keith’s elbow and dragged him _faster_ towards his room, slamming his own palm against the access panel before Keith even had a chance to.

If Keith was going to be ripping band aids off about this, taking no prisoners, then so was he.

Only, Keith froze in the doorway. Cemented to the floor despite Lance tugging him into the room. He looked at him, slightly annoyed, and his eyebrows drew together. “What’s the matter, now?”

Keith’s eyes were wide, though, and the sharpness that was in them ticks ago was practically nonexistent. “You didn’t—” He broke off. “It’s… the same.”

His own irritation flickering slightly, he glanced at the room. “The same as…?” he prompted, not following.

“Before I left.”

And… Lance was following even _less,_ now. “I know you’re a man of few words, space ninja, but you need to give us something to work with, here.”

Keith hesitated. Seemed to draw into himself a bit. Lance’s irritation faded even more, lessening into a nervous simmer in his chest. “I—I’ve been sleeping in the lounge.”

Lance blinked, and Shiro found his words before Lance did. “You _what?”_ he asked, incredulous. “Why?”

Keith pressed his lips together tightly, purple eyes still wide and wavering as he looked around the—admittedly _stark—_ room.  He tore them away to regard Shiro, then Pidge, then Hunk, back to Shiro, before finally falling on Lance. “I dunno,” he muttered. “I just. I figured since I _left—”_

 _“_ —that you wouldn’t have a home here?” Lance cut him off. His voice was… oddly gentle, considering the harshness that had filled it earlier, and he shook his head. “You’re an idiot, Keith.”

Lance tugged on his arm, pulling him into the room, and his heart was beating again, hammering in his ears as he felt Keith’s eyes drift to watch him. He allowed himself to be towed, and when Lance glanced over, there was a dangerous waver in his eyes.

In the corner of the room, he lifted Keith’s hand to the small panel on the wall, pressing it to the screen firmly before letting it drop. The wall beside them opened up, panels sliding sideways with groaning metal, to reveal a display case. Keith’s breath hitched in his throat.

The Red Paladin armour was practically sparkling. The stark white panels were bright, red pads and accents vibrant and vivid as ever. It looked like it could’ve been brand new, freshly made—not over ten-thousand years old, and certainly not like it’d been sitting in a glass case collecting dust for the last five or six pheobs.

Keith’s eyes were locked on the armour, and Lance nodded to it. “Wanna know why it looks so nice?” he asked, but didn’t wait for a response. “Because my main man Hunk comes into this room every few days and _cleans it for you,_ you asshole. Takes it out, dusts it off, shines the panels. The works.”

Keith blinked a few times, before dragging his gaze away from the display to regard Hunk. He swallowed. “You do?”

Hunk was crying. There were tears in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks, and Lance wasn’t sure when they started, but Hunk managed a watery smile regardless. “Well, yeah,” he admitted, his voice thick. He sniffled, dragging the heel of his hand across his cheek in an attempt to dry it. “I didn’t want it being all outta shape when you came back.”

 _When._ Not _if_. Lance sincerely hoped the significance of that wasn’t lost on Keith.  

And with his heart physically _aching,_ he pushed on. “And Pidge has been trying to reroute some communication channels to set up a private line for you. The Blades keep pretty air-tight security, but I’ve had to physically _carry_ her away from her lab to get her to get some sleep. She just wanted to find a way to _talk_ to you, once in a while, y’know? Without Kolivan’s surveillance, and not about _war business._ ”

Keith’s gaze dropped to Pidge’s, who’s eyes were dry, still, but sad. “I told you,” she said quietly. “We just—we miss you. I miss you, Keith.”

Keith opened his mouth, but Lance pressed forwards, not allowing him to speak.

“What about Red?” he asked, and shook his head, gesturing vaguely towards the door. “I took you to see her, you’re still _connected_ to her, and you weren’t even piloting her when you left! Do you think _Red_ wanted you to go? Don’t you think she missed you, too? Don’t you think she’d take you back in a heartbeat? Don’t you think we all would?”

Keith swallowed, and— _God,_ there were tears forming in his eyes again.

Lance didn’t know what to _do_ with Keith-tears.

He put his hands on Keith’s shoulders, forcing him to face him. For a moment, there was this horrible tremble in Keith’s chin, one he was just a millisecond too slow to cover up with his tightened jaw, and really, Lance just wanted to hug him and shake him and force him to _understand._

Lance didn’t realize he’d lifted a hand to Keith’s face until a tick too late, his fingers curled around the curve of his jaw and thumb brushing along the soft skin of his cheek. But Keith didn’t flinch away from it, and his shaky, watery eyes were locked on Lance’s, so he figured it was safe and that he _wasn’t_ about to get his hand lopped off, which was a win.

He brought his other hand up, too, cupping Keith’s face in his palms while they held each other’s gazes.  

“Listen to me, samurai,” he ordered, and his voice was steady, still, but had grown quiet and sincere. “You’re an _idiot._ We love you, and you’re an idiot, and we’re definitely not going to give up on you any time soon. It doesn’t matter if you’re being impulsive and not listening to us. And it doesn’t matter if you’re piloting a Lion or doing secret alien fight club stuff on the other side of the universe.”

Beneath his fingers, Keith’s skin was warm. He swallowed. “Lance…”

“You always have a home here,” he assured him, and it sounded like a promise in his own ears. “With us. You’ll always be a part of this team, and you’ll always be a member of this family. It’s about time you got that through your thick, stupid mullet.”

For a moment, the words just hung in the air, and everything was frozen.

And then… well, then Keith was kissing him.

Right there, on the spot and in front of everyone, with tears in his eyes and a quiver in his hands. Shutting down every executive control function Lance had and forcing an explosive heat from his chest, traveling up and up, burning in his ears and his cheeks and his neck. And something soared, some part of Lance that was detached from the situation, detached from the worry and the aching bones and the stinging eyes, flying high, high, because _quiznak,_ he knew he loved this emotionally-stunted kinda-human, but he hadn’t realized he was so hopelessly _in love_ with him, too.

There was a kind of squawking sound from Hunk, and a bit of a gasp from Pidge. But Shiro stayed silent, and Lance tried not to think about that too hard.

Too soon, too quickly, Keith was pulling back, blinking at Lance with wide eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” he said quickly, in an exhale. And he couldn’t tell _which_ situation Keith was referring to—his mother’s sudden appearance in his life, leaving team Voltron despite wanting to stay, _kissing Lance—_ but Lance was pretty positive he didn’t know what to do, either.

His voice was trapped in his throat, and he just blinked right back, because—nope, words were not forming on his lips, lips that Keith was just _kissing—_

“I don’t know how to be a son,” Keith continued, and shook his head, the words coming quickly. “I’ve never _had_ a mother, and I, I don’t—I don’t know how to _be_ a son.”

Okay. The mother situation. Alright.

Lance’s breath was coming quickly to him, short and shallow, but he needed to _focus_ , because Keith was still struggling, and looking at him for answers—

“W-well,” he croaked out, hoarse, and his hands were _still on Keith’s face and,_ _mierda,_ okay, that just happened. 

Keith blanched in front of him, watching him with wide, wavering eyes. 

“Judging—” Lance began, but his voice cracked through the word. Pitching high and unsteady, and he refused to acknowledge the heat in his cheeks, the burning in his ears.  He cleared his throat and tried again. “Judging by the way that conversation went,” he tried again, “she... doesn’t exactly know how to be a mother, yet, either.” He swallowed, pushing back the giddy, jittery feeling in his chest. “At least, not _your_ mother, so. Maybe it’s… something to figure out together?”

Keith swallowed, working his jaw. He looked around at his friends—at his _family—_ for a tick, before the tears finally spilled over, tracing down Keith’s cheeks and through Lance’s lingering fingers. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice so low it was barely audible. “I don’t want her to leave again. I don't want to... be _alone_  anymore.”

Lance’s chest was tight. His heart was thrumming loudly in his ears, his blood hot under his skin.

And his mind was racing in a million different directions, but it didn’t _matter._ Only Keith mattered. 

Keith, who was failing at keeping his expression steady, who’s chin quivered in Lance’s hands, despite how valiantly he was obviously trying to steel himself.

Keith, who had apparently been plunged into the lonely horrors of war long before ever leaving Earth. 

Keith, who was all jagged edges and sharp corners.

Keith, who had a softer center that he protected, not in fear of being soft, but in fear of people seeing that softness and leaving anyway. 

And when his expression crumbled into something grieved and mournful, Lance pulled him into his arms just in time for the first sob to break free from his chest, muffled and quiet and broken, as he buried his face in Lance’s neck.

Keith was shaking against him, fingers clawing painfully at the fabric of his shirt and the skin underneath, but before Lance could process what was happening, Shiro was there, too. On his other side, pressed into Keith’s back with large arms around them both. And Hunk was pressed into Lance’s back, strong arms circling all of them, always so warm. And Pidge had wedged herself somewhere in the middle, small and steady, and they just kind of held onto him for dear life.

There wasn’t much Lance could do as far as moving went, but he bent his head forward and pressed a kiss to messy black hair while, in his arms, Keith’s entire frame shook with quiet sobs and ragged breath.  

"Please don't leave me," he cried into Lance's chest, "please,  _please..."_

Lance's tightened grip was the only response he could muster, but Keith curled closer, melting into his embrace and the warmth of family, and Lance’s shirt was growing wet with tears, and his own vision was blurred, but some little tug at the back of his mind knew it was all going to be _okay._

Because Keith was home. And it seemed like he was finally, finally starting to understand that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (casually increases the total chapter count and hopes people don't notice how bad I am at sticking to plans)
> 
> (hops on the *Hunk cleans Keith's paladin armour while he's away* bandwagon)
> 
> LANCE SAVED THE DAY I DON'T MAKE THE RULES
> 
> (Also so sorry for all the angst, next chapter there will be a gross amount fluff and more paladin!fam feels I promise, also more Krolia (finally) so please don't hate me?)
> 
> Happy Monday!


	7. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The paladins just really love Keith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhh sorry for the delay, finals are kicking my butt and college is stressful, but here's some paladin family fluff (and klance) to make up for the fact that I haven't updated in almost 3 weeks (really sorry really really sorry)
> 
> Also, just something I haven't mentioned before, these chapters are unbeta'd so if there are mistakes or grammar errors or anything of the like, feel free to let me know and I'll fix 'em up
> 
> ***LANCE'S POV BEFORE BREAK***  
> ***KEITH'S POV AFTER BREAK***

“You’re—you’re sure she’s not mad at me?”

Lance rolled his eyes, pushing Keith further down the hallway. “Nooo,” he drawled, and he drew the word out, his tone bordering on too-light. “Because she’s huge and Galra and just about as cryptic as you are. But mad or not, you have to talk to her.”

Keith tried to dig his heels into the floor to stop their momentum, but Hunk took up his other side, putting a hand on his back and pushing him along as well, and Keith didn’t stand a chance.

Part of Lance felt like they were walking him to his doom, bringing him to confront Krolia like this. Shiro had been called away by Allura, so it was just the four youngest members of the team, and though the air was significantly lighter than it had been there was still a deep, aching concern lurking under Lance’s skin.

 “I yelled at her,” Keith repeated, for the umpteenth time. “I said—I said really cruel things to her.”

Which, y’know, wasn’t entirely _untrue._ But that was kind of his right, right?

Pidge, who had been trailing behind them, hooked hands on Keith’s shoulders and jumped, hoisting herself up piggyback-style as they walked. His arms dropped to wrap around her legs automatically, almost on instinct, as Pidge rested her chin on his head and looped her arms around his neck. “I fight with my mom all the time, if it makes you feel better,” she chimed in. “I think all kids do. It’s really pretty normal.”

But Keith didn’t seem comforted. “Nothing about Krolia is _normal,_ Pidge.”

Beside them, Hunk sighed wistfully, his eyes far away as they walked. “I miss fighting with my mom.”

There was a pang, some hollowness in Lance’s chest, and he nodded in agreement. He could picture his own mother’s face, stern eyes and pursed lips but with a softness in her expression that never wavered, even in their worst battles. Exasperated and muttering in Spanish as she stormed away, but always warm, and always loving. “I do too,” he agreed sullenly.

A tick passed in silence as they continued, and despite the elephant that was Krolia, and the elephant that was The Kiss, _(which still hasn’t been addressed,_ a part of Lance’s brain unhelpfully lingered on), it was almost like old times again. Almost.

“She called you her kit _,”_ Pidge murmured in thought after a moment, and when Lance glanced over, her eyebrows were drawn together. She shifted slightly on Keith’s back to regard him with a tilted head. “Is that a Galra thing?”

Keith’s face twisted into something like grimace, and he gave a nod. “It’s what they call their young, children. Kits.”

Lance felt himself frowning, too, curious, forcing himself to be present and there while his mind lingered on the stupidly adorable way Keith’s nose had scrunched up. “But—you’re eighteen,” he pointed out. “Almost nineteen. You’re an adult, not a child.”

Keith let out a snort of laughter at that, and while it was a surprising sound, it was far from unwelcome. Lance’s heart skipped a beat. “Maybe on Earth,” Keith told them, “but not to the Blade, I’m not. Galra are considered kits until they’re—I dunno?” He squinted his eyes in thought. “Like—thirty, in Earth years? Thirty-five? I guess they have longer lifespans than humans. Kind of stretches everything out.”

Lance’s frown deepened. Alien culture was always fascinating to him, but he’d never learned much at all about the Galra aside from the fact that they’re the enemy, the ones to stop. The extended lifespan was news, and realizing how little he knew about the people they’re fighting wasn’t sitting too well in his stomach. “How long is ‘longer,’ exactly?” he asked, putting air quotes around the word.

Keith shrugged again, shifting Pidge and hoisting her up higher as she pressed her cheek into his hair, listening. “Not sure. Maybe two hundred years? Two-fifty? Not as long as Alteans, though, I don’t think.”

And his growing concern was overshadowed, for a moment, by giddy realization, and Lance felt a grin crack over his face. “So—that makes you like, practically a baby, in Galra-world.”

“Not a _baby,”_ Pidge corrected. “Proportionally he’d be more like a… late toddler? Somewhere early in middle-childhood?”

Keith grunted, an irritated sound, but with no heat behind it. “Don’t you two start,” he grumbled with another grimace. “I get enough of that back at Base, I don’t need it from you, too.”

Hunk frowned at that, his eyebrows drawing together. “They give you a hard time?” he questioned, and there was worry in his voice. “The Marmora guys?"

Lance felt a twist of worry, too, but Keith sighed before he could speak up. “It’s fine,” he insisted, and shook his head. “It’s not really unexpected _._ I’m small, I’m young, I’m—” His voice faltered, just a little. “—a half-breed, and physically human. Not exactly at peak Galra fitness.”

Though still concerned, Lance sent him a forced, wry grin. “So, basically what you’re saying is they pretty easily kick your ass.”

“What I’m saying is that they definitely _try_.”

There was a beat of silence, and the teasing tone had faded from Pidge’s voice when she spoke again. “Seriously, though,” she murmured, and seemed to curl tighter around him. “They’re not—they’re not bad to you, right?”

Keith hesitated, but shook his head as they walked. “No,” he assured, and his voice was a little quieter. “No, not bad. It’s just different.”

 _Colder,_ the words, his expression seemed to say. A place of work, not a home.

Pidge hummed, seeming unsatisfied with the response, but didn’t push.

Lance wasn’t too satisfied with it, either, but Keith’s opened up more in the past varga than probably the rest of his life combined, so he held back his concern, pulling back the worried words ready to fall from his lips.

They walked in silence a moment longer before Hunk cleared his throat. “So, I… I have a question. But you can’t—you can’t like, chop my arm off for asking, okay?”

Keith raised his eyes to regard Hunk, at the slightly nervous tone that the Yellow Paladin had taken on. “Alright,” he agreed slowly, voice cautious. “Shoot. Can’t guarantee I’ll have an answer, though.”

Hunk hesitated, chewing on his lip, before asking. “If you’re—if you’re half Galra, right, then how come you’re not…” He trailed off, and Lance knew this Hunk—this was curious-but-frightened-to-ask Hunk, and Lance knew his question would go unfinished.

But Keith didn’t seem affronted by the question, which was settling, and he raised an eyebrow at Hunk. “…purple?” he filled in. “More alien?”

Hunk winced sheepishly, and rubbed at his arm, and Lance was so glad Hunk had voiced the question aloud and saved him the trouble because, yeah, that was something he was wondering, too. “It’s just—y’know, Lotor’s half Galra, too,” Hunk pressed forward, “and half Altean, but he _looks_ Galra. And all the other hybrids we’ve met look like hybrids. So why don’t you?”

Keith shook his head. “Literally no clue, Hunk, but I’m not exactly complaining.”

 _Maybe Krolia would know,_ Lance thought to himself. Maybe she’d know why he was so human, everywhere but those hypnotic, deep violet eyes.

Quiznak, he loved those eyes.

 “I bet you’d look good in purple,” Hunk mumbled.

 _He’d look good in anything,_ Lance’s mind chimed in unhelpfully, and he felt his skin heat up around the collar of his jacket.

This really was not the time.

Luckily, he was spared the opportunity to make a fool out of himself by saying something stupid as they approached the observation deck. There were clamors coming from the room, even through the wall, metal against metal and grunts of effort only growing louder as the door slid open and they slipped inside, approaching the window to peer down at the training deck below.

Krolia held a staff in her clawed hands, facing off against a Gladiator with the smooth, elegant fierceness Lance had only ever seen in weathered, battle-hardened Blade members.

Her Marmora uniform was unzipped and the upper half pulled down, arms tied around her waist as she trained. A black tank top and lack of armour exposed long, lavender arms, strong as all Galra were and littered with scars visible even at this distance. She moved with fluid, precise attacks, deflecting the Gladiator’s advances and keeping herself low enough to protect her face, her core, while still maneuvering around and getting calculated swings in at its legs, its shoulders, its head.

Keith had gone still, beside him, eyebrows drawn together in a frown as Pidge dropped from his back and stepped around to get a closer look. There was an unreadable look in his eyes, and he swallowed, but stayed silent.

“Of course she’s training,” Hunk muttered lowly, almost to himself. “Do Blade of Marmora members always spend every free moment training? Is that a thing? Or is it just a _Kogane_ thing, like it runs in the family? Although, that’s probably not Krolia’s last name, is it? Do Galra even _have_ last names?”

There was no response from the young Blade as his eyes trailed the figure below them.

Lance felt his own eyes widen as he watched her, tall, strong, dance around the Gladiator like it was the most natural thing in the world. Using the space to her advantage, drawing away from the bot and allowing it to charge up its attacks, its speed, and turning it around on a dime to her advantage. They parried like that, for a few handfuls of ticks, and it was almost like she was teasing it. Playing with it, drawing the fight out.

Eventually she hooked the staff around the Gladiator’s neck, holding it still by locking her elbows around it as she brought her knees up, feet leaving the ground entirely, and pulled _back._ Twisting through the air, forcing both herself and the bot to flip backwards with the sheer force of her momentum, of her strength, and there was a screech of metal piercing the air.

And the next time Lance blinked, she was somehow landing on her feet with the Gladiator crumpled to the floor beneath her, the robot head _detached,_ entirely, and still pinned between her chest and the staff she gripped in her hands.

If it weren’t for the slight pant-like quality her breathing had taken on, Lance would’ve said it seemed _easy_ for her to do.

Lance cleared his throat.  “…Hey, mullet?” he mumbled, eyes never leaving the view of the training deck. “Not to, uh. Not to undermine your trauma, or anything, but—your mom’s kind of a badass. Y’know?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, and when Lance looked over, Keith’s eyes were just as wide as his own felt.

A tick passed before his expression shifted into something tired, as if only then processing Lance’s words. He let out a groan and dropped his head into his hands. “You’re not allowed to think she’s _cool,_ Lance, she abandoned me.”

Lance made an indignant noise. “To save the quiznaking universe! Keith!” And yeah, maybe it wasn’t the most _sensitive_ response, but quiznak. He wasn’t technically wrong. He gestured to the training deck below. “In case you missed it, she just _decapitated a Gladiator._ Not even Shiro could do that. You can’t say she’s not a little badass.”

Keith groaned again and scrubbed his hands over his face. “ _Yes,_ okay, I know she’s badass,” he relented, “just—just stop being so excited about it. This is confusing, and you’re not exactly helping.”

“I am too helping!”

“ _No,_ you’re not.”

“Decapitated a Gladiator, Keith.”

Keith’s hands dropped to his sides and he sent Lance a glare, opening his mouth with some retort, but Pidge cut him off, muttering something up to Hunk under her breath.

Lance spun to face her as Hunk let out a choked laugh, narrowing his eyes accusingly. “What was that, Pidge?”

She looked up at him with her wide, topaz eyes full of mischief behind her glasses, and a small, but still impish, grin. “Oh, I just asked Hunk if we should give you two the room. You know, to work out whatever _this is—”_ she gestured generically between the two of them, “—in private.”

Lance, again, felt heat creep up his neck and paint his skin, but the glare he had leveled at Pidge never wavered. “Keep it up and I’ll tell Shiro what you did last movement on Berakthion, while you were supposed to be getting in touch with the Olkari about the new cannon schematics.”

Pidge’s eyes widened, donning a look of horror as every ounce of humor drained from her face. “You _wouldn’t,”_ she hissed.

“Oh,” Lance assured her smugly, “oh, I believe I would.”

Keith sent him a confused look, a clear what-did-Pidge-do-now kind of expression, but there was a slight flush to his cheeks, too, and _dios,_ he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Keith blush before. No, he was sure he’d never seen it, before. It was too cute _not_ to be remembered.

 _Later,_ he mouthed at him, ignoring the way his heart was speeding up, and gesturing not-at-all subtly to where Pidge’s gaze had turned sharp as knives.

Keith nodded and returned his own eyes to the training deck below, but his cheeks were still a little pink, and Lance wasn’t sure what that meant, entirely, but it made his head feel light.

Below, Krolia had the body of the Gladiator slung over one shoulder and was carrying it over to the corner of the room. She discarded it alongside a small pile of shredded metal that must have, at one point, constituted the bodies of a handful sentries.

“At least now we know where you get your temper from,” Pidge mused, breaking the silence, but any betrayal or mischief in her voice had been painted over with observant curiosity. Keith’s eyes flicked to her, and she shrugged a little. “I mean—those things are Altean, and practically indestructible,” she continued. “Taking its head off? It’s not easy to do that kind of damage.”

Lance’s mind flicked back to the previous night, what felt like eons ago, when he stood in this very spot and watched Keith plunge his sword clean through the Gladiator’s neck, very nearly decapitating it himself. And though Pidge seems to believe it was an attribute of their tempers, Lance wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t sure their actions were fueled by anger at all, actually. Confusion, and pain, and loss, yes. But he wasn’t so sure about anger.

“She really is your mom,” Lance murmured.

Keith swallowed, the slight undertones of nervousness in his eyes returning as he continued to watch her. “She’s my mom,” he agreed quietly, and Lance felt his expression soften again. Because as true as it was, it seemed like Keith hadn’t quite wrapped his mind around it yet. “I have a mother.”

“You do,” Hunk agreed, voice warm as he glanced back down to the training deck. “Are you ready to talk to her?”

Keith exhaled, slowly, but steadily. “Not really,” he admitted, and his voice was honest. “But I can’t just keep avoiding her. That’s not fair to either of us.”

A tick passed, a beat of silence.

“Aw, man, Keith,” Hunk gushed, and before Lance could blink, he’d swept Keith up in another bone-crushing hug, lifting his feet from the floor. “We’re really proud of you, y’know?” he continued, voice muffled into Keith’s shoulder. “And I know it’s—it’s probably overwhelming, and all, I mean, why _wouldn’t_ it be, right? But we’re just—we’re really proud of you. And I think this could be really good for you, when things all work out. Which I—I think they will. Work out. And if they don’t then you have us. Well, you’ll have us anyways, regardless of whether things work out. I just—what I mean to say is—”

“—things will be okay,” Keith cut him off, and where Lance had expected rigidity and unease, he found Keith returning Hunk’s hug, albeit a little tentatively, with a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, Hunk,” he assured, “I—thank you. Really.”

Hunk sniffled loudly and set Keith down again, and while the tears weren’t really surprising in his best friend, the slight shine in Keith’s eyes was. Tears never fell, didn’t even well up enough to be considered _tears_ at all, and it honestly could’ve been a trick of the light because the next instant that gleam was gone as his eyes trailed over his teammates. He shifted on his feet slightly and shook his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Krolia,” he said then, unprompted.

When the paladins just kind of blinked at him, he exhaled and pressed on.

“It’s— _confusing._ You know? It’s confusing and I just needed to… get away from it. From thinking about it.”

Lance understood, something warm in his chest because, God, how could Keith be _real?_ All he could offer was a small smile and a nod, voice caught somewhere in his lungs.

“And I—I’m sorry it took finding her to push me to come home. That was… pretty shitty of me. Leaving, like that, and coming back because something happened. An _occasion._ ” His voice twisted at the word, like a curse, and he shook his head. “You deserved better than that from me.”

And… there was his voice, again, accompanied by a steady resolve in his gut that felt like iron. “Hey,” Lance stopped him, shaking his head and stepping closer. “Stop that. We understand.”

“Yeah,” Pidge agreed, and there was no hesitation in her voice. “If anything, it just proves that you feel safe here, and with us, which is—you know. Good. Because we’re not going anywhere. So you _should_ feel safe with us.”

Keith smiled, ducking his head slightly, but Lance could swear there was a bit of a flush on his cheeks again. “I… I do,” he affirmed. “Yeah. I do.”

Lance nodded, the words sitting warmly in his chest. “Good,” he approved, and it was. It was good.  He put his hands on Keith’s shoulders and spun him towards the door again, pushing him towards the exit, encouraging him to ride this wave of comfort. “Now be an adult and go talk to your mom.”

Keith reached up, though, his hand curling around one of Lance’s wrists. The fingers that poked out of those dumb fingerless gloves were calloused and rough from war, but his touch was soft. Lance swore his heart stopped completely when Keith turned back to face him.

His eyes were wide, again, and nervous, but there was determination in them, some steeled resolve that was steady, his fingers still looped around Lance’s wrist. And his chin was relaxed, and his lips were soft-looking, and gentle, and outside of his eyes there was no stoniness in any part of his face which was both weird and wonderful at the same time, and Lance couldn’t move. “Can you—” Keith began, but broke off, his voice lowered. Lance couldn’t move. He couldn’t move, and he couldn’t breathe, with Keith looking at him like that. “Can you come down with me?”

Lance swallowed. Could he? Would his body start functioning again and _allow_ that to be a thing?

“I—not onto the deck, but. Just. Could you… walk down with me?”

That warmth in his chest grew, and his heart was racing. He blinked for a moment, at Keith’s wide, beautiful eyes, and felt his mouth pull into a broad, flirty grin, a familiar safety net. “Keith Kogane, if this is your idea of our first date, you have got to do better than that.”

Behind him, Hunk failed at stifling a startled guffaw and Pidge let out an obnoxious cackle. He was expecting some shot of irritation from Keith, but there was pink creeping up his neck, and he simply rolled his eyes.  Exasperated and tired but undoubtedly _fond._

Lance’s teasing grin eased into something more earnest and he twisted his wrist, shifting to slot his fingers in between Keith’s.  

Keith just blinked for a tick, before squeezing Lance’s fingers slightly and turning, tugging him through the door with the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips, and Lance never wanted to let go.

* * *

It was a little bit surreal, to find her on the training deck.

So often the place he went to get out his aggression, his anger, his fear, the training deck had quickly become his favorite part of the Castle. The team always gave him a hard time about it, teasing him about just moving in, but Keith didn’t mind—he actually _had_ spent a fair share of nights there, training himself into exhaustion and resting for a moment only to wake up the next morning when the Castle’s automatic natural light simulators turned on. He honestly considered, at one point, shoving a pillow and blanket into one of its too-crowded storage closets. Just in case.

And this is where Krolia was, while waiting for him to gather his thoughts—the training deck. Facing off against the Gladiator and winning, seemingly without breaking a sweat.

As much as it hurt him to admit, Lance may have had a point. She _was_ kind of badass.

Once they arrived, he lingered just outside the door, trying to steady that quivering in his chest and push away that nervousness churning in his gut. It had built up on the walk down from the observation deck, in a way he thought he had _gotten_ through. He’d already confronted her once, he didn’t need to be so stupidly _worried,_ again. But he was.

But it was more than that, too. More than just nerves.  It was almost…

…giddiness?

The word didn’t seem to match the feeling all that well, but it was the closest thing he could name with his mind still pulled in a million different directions. Because he’d already _gotten_ the anger out of the way. He’d gotten it out of the way in the form of cruel, sharp words laced with harsh truths that neither of them deserved to be reminded of. And while part of him regretted what he’d said, how he’d said it, another part of him thought that maybe it was a good thing to lay all his cards out on the table, like that.

For most of his life, the idea of his mother was accompanied by a blinding, steamrolling anger. Loneliness and bitterness and an inescapable feeling of rejection all rolled into one, manifesting itself as a bone-deep rage he was never quite able to shake. So when it came to her, the majority of the cards he _had_ to play were tainted with some shade of resentment or another, and they’d been played right up front.

But maybe in some screwed up way, it was for the best. They both knew where they stood, at least.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t still angry. He was pretty sure a part of him would _always_ be a little upset at her, a little bit hurt and a little bit lonely, a small boy that nobody seemed to want, and that was okay.  But more than angry, he was oddly… excited. Which was new. And it was weird. And he wasn’t sure what to _do_ with excitement, really, except make a silent vow to himself to put effort into understanding her side of things and one day, hopefully, building something up from there.

The thought, in and of itself, was foreign and strange. But hell, he’d give it his best shot.

He didn’t want to lose her again.

 _He didn’t want to lose her again._ If he was being honest with himself, that’s really what it all stemmed from. He didn’t want to get attached just to have her leave, again, and it was scary.

And it felt like that was all that was left inside of him—this deep ache in his bones, and this lightness in his chest. Excitement married to fear and a little bit of sorrow, because this—this was real. This was happening, and after eighteen years without a family, he suddenly had a mother on the other side of this door, and a group of people that felt like home supporting him.

And that thought made him inexplicably excited _,_ despite everything else.

He swallowed, and Lance reached over to place a hand on his shoulder. “You ready?”

And Lance’s hand was warm, even through his jacket, and when Keith lifted his gaze to meet startlingly blue eyes, a smile tugged on his lips. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he assured, and while it wasn’t necessarily a _yes,_ it was the closest he’s gotten, and that was enough.

Lance smiled too, then, all support and encouragement with a flash of bright white teeth as he squeezed Keith’s shoulder.

But again, Keith hesitated. Because he needed to _tell_ Lance—he needed to tell him—

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Keith blinked. The words hadn’t come from him.

In front of him, Lance winced, drawing his hand away to rub at the back of his neck. “ _Mierda_ , that was so forward, wasn’t it?” he muttered, and closed his eyes. “It’s just—you’re so stupid, and you get on my nerves, and I get on your nerves, and we bicker, but I don’t actually—I don’t actually hate you? Like, I—I _really_ don’t hate you.”

 _I don’t hate you either,_ Keith wanted to say, but the words kept tumbling from Lance’s mouth as he dropped his hand back down to his side.

“And everything’s been different since you’ve been gone, and not really a _good_ different, and you just—you make it better, when you’re around. And I hadn’t really realized how much I missed your stupid mullet until you came back. And you’re—you’re brave, and you’re cryptic, and you brood and do things like nearly blow yourself up for the good of the universe, and you could probably kill me with your big toe, or something, but I just—I just really want to protect you? Y’know? Wrap you up in bubble wrap and keep you close, and just—not let anything hurt you. _Quiznak,_ that’s so corny, but it’s true.”

Keith’s heart was hammering in his throat, and his stomach was bubbly. “Lance, I—”

“And I know—” Lance cut him off, finally opening his eyes and shaking his head. “I know this isn’t really the best time, y’know, considering the whole _Krolia_ situation, and I know you hate me and all, but you kind of started it by planting one on me out of the blue, so really this is all _your fault_.” He jabbed a finger at Keith’s chest with the words. “I was perfectly happy living in my bubble of unrequited pining, thank you very much, I didn’t need—” he waved dramatically between the two of them, “—all this.”

Keith snatched his gesturing hands from the air. _God,_ was that his heart beating that loudly? “Lance.”

Lance swallowed audibly. “Right,” he exhaled shakily. “Shutting up.”

But he didn’t want Lance to shut up. As much fun as it was to give him crap about it, if Keith was being honest with himself, he could listen to Lance ramble for _hours._ Days. He shook his head, squeezing Lance’s hands. “I don’t hate you.”

Lance blinked at him. “What?”

Keith swallowed, and his hands were getting clammy but Lance still held on, and that soothed something tight and nervous in his chest. “I don’t—” he started, but his voice wavered. He forced himself to hold Lance’s wide eyes as he took a breath and tried again. “I don’t hate you, either. Lance, I… really don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?”

“Of course not.” Keith shook his head, and he felt his eyebrows draw together slightly. “I—I think you’re kind of incredible, honestly. You always know what to say to people, how to make people feel better. You always care so much, in the right ways, and I can’t figure out how.”

Lance’s blue eyes were wavering, and he opened his mouth soundlessly before closing it again. He took a breath, squinting at him, like he was trying to solve a particularly hard puzzle. “So—so you _meant_ to kiss me?”

Keith felt heat in his cheeks, again, but a smile pulled softly at his mouth. “Yeah, sharpshooter. I meant to kiss you.”

“And it wasn’t—it wasn’t an accident? A heat of the moment, mid-existential-freak-out type of thing?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Definitely not.”

“And you’re saying you _don’t_ hate me?”

Keith’s chest tightened slightly, and he sighed. “I’m saying I _like_ you, Lance.”

The words were quiet, barely audible, but Keith _said them,_ out loud, and something settled in his stomach as he did.

 _I think I’m in love with you, too,_ he wanted to correct himself as closed his eyes, but he wasn’t sure how to swallow that realization down yet, and it was caught in his chest, and he sincerely hoped Lance could read in between the lines.

He risked opening his eyes again, and saw Lance’s mouth dropped into a small ‘o’. For a moment, he just… stared. Then he took in a deep, shaking breath, and let it out in a loud exhale. “Oh, thank _God.”_

Lance closed the distance between them, pulling his hands free from Keith’s to curl one around the back of his head, fingers twisting into the hair at the nape of his neck, and dropping the other lower to press firmly into the small of his back. Keith went stiff, for a moment, unused to the contact, but the moment Lance’s lips crashed against his, full of relief and warmth and urgency, he relaxed into it.

His heart was pounding in his ears, and somewhere deep in his stomach there was still that nervousness, churning into something like nausea, but Lance’s fingers brushed against his skin and eased it away steadily.

He returned the kiss with his own urgency, his own hands dropping to Lance’s waist and tightening, pulling him closer. Steady and strong and solid, and they leaned into each other, and the ground wasn’t shifting under Keith’s feet anymore. He felt balanced, again, and he hadn’t felt like that since before leaving Voltron.

 _Thank you,_ he wanted to say, but he was breathless. Lance was literally stealing his breath away, and he was supposed to be confronting his long-lost mother, not kissing this stupid, wonderful boy, and this whole thing was ridiculous and kind of perfect.

Lance pulled away, and Keith was too slow to clamp down the small noise of protest that rose from his throat. Lance raised an eyebrow, that stupid, cocky grin spreading on his face. “So you’re okay with this?” he asked, slightly breathless himself.

Keith hummed, tightening his hands around Lance’s hips. “Very.”

Lance beamed, and it was like looking at the goddamn sun. “Awesome.” He leaned in again, and it was less intense, this time, softer and sweeter and warmer when their mouths met. Lance’s thumb stroked behind his ear gently, and Keith was in awe, because he always knew how perceptive Lance was, how caring he was behind all that sarcasm and goofiness, but he never imagined he’d be on the receiving end of such a tender care. People like him weren’t usually allowed that kind of love.

But here Lance was, untwisting those knots in his chest, and easing the nerves in his stomach, and assuring him that he wasn’t alone, that he’d never be alone again, and it meant more to him than words could describe. Because he was tearing down walls Keith had started building over a decade ago, had fortified with every sharp disappointment, and it was enough to make his eyes sting. 

Again, it was Lance that broke the kiss, pulling away and drawing another sigh from Keith. “As much fun as kissing me must be,” he murmured dryly, though his voice was a little rough, which Keith took pride in, “you really do need to go talk to Krolia.”

Keith met his eyes again, but his own gaze felt steadier, and he gave a small nod, his lips still tingling. “Yeah.”

Lance smiled at him, tugging him closer and wrapping his arms around Keith’s shoulders and pressing a quicker kiss to his hair. “I’ll go back up to the bridge,” he murmured before letting go, and giving his arms a small squeeze. “Ask Hunk if he could whip up something for lunch with everyone, whenever you’re done.”

Keith gave a small smile himself and nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Lance’s smile grew, and it was soft and genuine and real as he nodded, too, and turned to make his way down the hallway and back up to the bridge.

Keith watched him go for a handful of ticks, the warmth in his chest lingering and a little tingly, but good. Just before he was about to disappear from view, Keith cleared his throat. “Hey, sharpshooter!”

Down the hall, Lance spun on his heel to face him. Even at this distance, Keith could see his raised eyebrow. “Yes, mullet?”

Keith hesitated, for just a second. “Thank you.”

Lance’s other eyebrow shot up. “For?”

Keith’s heart swelled in his chest, and he offered a small shrug. “Just—everything. Thank you.”

If he were any closer, Keith was sure the smile Lance gave him would’ve blinded him. “I _am_ pretty great, I know.”

Keith groaned, but something in his chest swelled at the familiar, teasing tone. “Lance.”

Lance just offered him a two-fingered salute, still grinning. “Catch ya on the flipside, mullet,” he joked lightly, but when his arm dropped back down to his side, his grin faded into something more genuine, more sincere. “And if things don’t go great, Keith, I’ve got your back. You know? We all do. Always will.”

He ducked his head into a nod, hiding his own smile because—yeah. He did know. And it was a little bit foreign, to admit that, but it was _good._ “Yeah,” he agreed, and glanced back up. “I know, Lance. Thanks.”

Lance offered another smile and another nod before turning and continuing out, vanishing from sight within a handful of ticks despite the way Keith still felt his arms around him.

He took a steadying breath, and then another as he turned towards the door to the training deck. There was still that nervousness in his gut, that jittery anticipation in his chest, but his hands were steady as he pressed a palm to the panel on the wall and the doors slid open smoothly in front of him.

He stepped in slowly, not wanting to startle her, but she noticed him regardless. She was mid-battle with a not-yet-decapitated Gladiator, and she glanced over her shoulder towards the door, distracted by his entrance. When she saw who it was, she froze, her eyes locked onto Keith’s as the Gladiator continued charging at her.

Keith’s chest lurched in what he could only consider worry _,_ because Krolia wasn’t moving and the Gladiator definitely _was._ And before he could realize what he’d done, his knife was unsheathed and leaving his fingers, spinning around itself as it shot across the room towards the robot, cutting sharply through the air over Krolia’s shoulder and plunging hilt-deep into the Gladiator’s forehead.

It was close— _too close—_ and if his aim had been just a little bit off she could’ve easily lost an arm. Instead, the light flickered out of the bot as it creaked to a halt, its sparking, electrified staff only inches away from striking Krolia in the head.

There was a beat of silence, the Galra woman’s eyes locked on her son’s still, before the Gladiator lurched backwards and fell to the floor of the training room with a _crash._

Krolia straightened, blinking, and turned to regard the deactivated robot behind her. She looked at it curiously for a moment before crouching down to pull the knife free from its metal head.

She stayed bent low, for a tick, turning the knife over in her hands almost fondly before glancing to Keith again. “You’ve become quite the fighter,” she observed, and while there was something like admiration in her voice, there was also something sad. “A warrior with an exceptionally strong heart.”

He lifted to her feet again, crossing the room to hand the knife back to him, and he ducked his head slightly as he accepted it. He didn’t quite know what to say to that, so he didn’t respond. He just sheathed his blade, and let the silence stretch on for a moment.

She was so close to him, not moving away after the exchange, and his heart stuttered. He brought a hand to his neck, rubbing at it awkwardly. “I—uh.” He cleared his throat, wincing slightly and risking a glance up at her, as she watched him with unreadable eyes. “I think I’ve gotten a lot of the anger out of me,” he admitted, and dropped his arm to his side again. “If you’d be willing to try the whole _‘_ talking’ thing again.”

And Krolia just looked at him, for a moment, watching him with those indecipherable eyes. Up close, Keith could see more of the differences between them—while they had similar jaw shapes, her chin was sharper than his, and her irises were a little more purple, where Keith’s were darker, almost a deep greyish-violet. There were lines of concern between her eyebrows as she looked at him, frowning slightly, but other than that her face was young. Smooth and hairless, unlike some of the other Galra that he’d known to be slightly furred, and it eased some part of himself that was still struggling to swallow down the whole _‘my mom’s an alien’_ thing.

And he didn’t know her. She was a stranger to him, and that hurt, and it probably would always hurt a little bit, but that was fine. And maybe he wasn’t ready to be her _son,_ but he was willing to try being something more than strangers, and he just hoped the rest would fall into place later.

Slowly, Krolia gave him a soft smile, and there was a surprising amount of warmth in it, a surprising amount of sadness, as she ducked her head into a nod of her own. She hesitated for a moment before placing a large, clawed hand on his shoulder.

He let her, the touch gentler than he imagined she could be.

“Of course,” she assured him, and gave his shoulder a slight squeeze. “I’d love to.”

Keith let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and something eased in his chest at the sincerity in her voice. And he could still feel Lance’s warm arms around him, long fingers twisted through his hair, lips pressed to his softly, and he felt steady. Balanced. Like the ground wasn't shifting under his feet anymore.

Maybe Hunk was right. Maybe things really would work out, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I increased the chapter number again because my life is spiraling out of control
> 
> This chapter was originally supposed to have the Keith/Krolia talk, too, but it seemed like everything was a little bit rushed, so I decided instead to chop it into two chapters, one focusing more on the paladins and Keith and Lance (this one) and then one focusing on Keith and Krolia (the next one), so yeah that's why a ton doesn't happen in this chapter (also the reason for the increase in total chapter #)
> 
> Also I kind of needed a break from the keith-angst for a hot sec ergo lots of dialogue, klance, and piggyback rides
> 
> (Also Keith and Krolia are both badasses and I love them so much)


	8. Safe (To Be a Son)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Krolia talk. Keith gets some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five months later, an update! So sorry to everyone who's been waiting on this. Longer A/N at the end, wherein I rant exceedingly about why this was so delayed, and announce some exciting news! 
> 
> ***KEITH'S POV***

There was something heavy in the air as Keith stood across from his mother.

The giddy, nervous feeling in his chest had all but vanished, and the tension that hung between them was just that—tension. It wasn’t sharp with bitter resentment like their last interaction, but saturated with foreign longing and regret and other things Keith couldn’t quite put to name, but ached inside of him nonetheless. Some kind of awkward tentativeness, neither party knowing where or when to start; not knowing which frayed threads were safe to tug at without the risk of unraveling their entire world.

Keith had thought about taking a seat—there was a bench on the wall just a few steps away—but the notion of baring himself even more vulnerable than he already was made his stomach twist into knots.

It took a few doboshes for the silence to break.

“For what it’s worth, Keith, I...” Krolia trailed off, and her voice was soft. “I _am_ sorry. For all the suffering I’ve caused you, inadvertent or not.”

The words she said hung in the air, suspended like half-inflated balloons. Underneath her apology, behind the shaky breaths and the rapid-fire beating of his heart, the training deck was completely silent.

“It was never my intention to hurt you in such a deep way,” his mother continued, and closed her eyes. With a slight shake of her head, her voice lowered, her lips twitching slightly. Bitter. “I wanted you safe, but I never wanted this. I never wanted you to carry so much uncertainty inside of you.”

Each word was said deliberately, careful and thought-out and sure, and—really, she was reading him like a book. Part of Keith wondered when he’d started wearing his heart on his sleeve; another part of him didn’t really care.

He swallowed, something tugging at the base of his throat painfully.  A hot quiver, an unsteady breath. “I know,” he told her.  He wasn’t sure _how_ he knew, exactly, but he did. He believed her. He wet his lips, taking a step closer and again letting the words come. Trying not to think, trying not to judge.  “And I get why you did it. Why you left.” He paused, and they shared another beat of silence. “At least, I think I do.”

She opened her eyes at his words, glancing at him, expression questioning.

Keith held her gaze for a moment, his own eyebrows drawing together in a frown. He glanced down, rubbing the palms of his hands against his jeans, and, for a moment, he had the absurd desire for his armor. He was so exposed without it, and his hands were getting clammy again. “I—I left my family too,” he confided, and ducked his head further, ashamed. “The… Paladins, I mean. I left to be a full-time agent for the Blade. I didn’t want to, but I thought it would be for the best.”  He hesitated again, the truth in the words burning behind his eyes, and he brought his gaze back to Krolia’s. “I told you: I understand war.”

Krolia shook her head, the waver in her eyes hardening into something else. Something tired. “You shouldn’t have to.”

There was a hint of venom in the words, but it was clear to Keith that it wasn’t directed at him, so he just shook his head. “No,” he agreed, “I shouldn’t. But I do. You had a job to do.”

“My job _,”_ Krolia shot back without a beat, low, resolute, “was to be a mother. To guard my kit, my _child,_ first and foremost, and I didn’t.”

“But I’m alive,” Keith returned, tossing her own words back at her. A mirror. An odd role-reversal that Keith never anticipated to witness. “I survived.”

Krolia’s lips pulled back, just a little, sharp teeth glinting against the training deck’s lights. “ _That’s not the point,”_ she hissed. “I didn’t protect you—a mother is supposed to _protect._ That was my job, and you grew up alone. _”_

Keith took a breath through his nose, and the air rattled through his chest. He shook his head. “Your job,” he corrected her, “was to help end this war. It’s bigger than any one person, and I understand that _._ ” He felt his resolve falter further under her fiery gaze, and he clenched his fingers into fists, trying to keep himself steady. “It wasn’t easy,” he continued, quieter, and the words tasted like acid. “It was lonely. And it _hurt_. But I understand.”

There was a beat of silence following the admission, and Keith couldn’t help but think how much it must’ve hurt for her, too. How much it probably still hurt.

“I should’ve left you a note. If I had known—” she broke off, her voice dying.  A tick passed before she took in a steady, deep breath, and her words were softer. “If I had known how much sorrow it would’ve spared you, I would’ve left a note,” she tried again, and shook her head. “If I had known your father was going to _leave_ —”

“You couldn’t have known,” Keith cut her off, and it was sure, and it was honest. There was no room for doubt in his mind on that particular claim—there was no way Krolia could’ve known. Because while Keith had him, his dad had been… _great_. Loving and supportive and kind, everything a father ought to be. He’d been in Keith’s corner, he’d been Keith’s number one fan, from day one.

Until the day he wasn’t. Until the day he was gone. Krolia wouldn’t have been able to see it coming, no one would. Keith certainly hadn’t—that’s why it had hurt so much.

“It doesn’t matter,” she dismissed with another shake of her head, her voice thin and reedy, her words tight. “I should’ve left a note.”

That time-old ache in his bones thrummed on. “Maybe.”

“I should’ve _stayed.”_

His heart lurched, his lungs tightening and halting his breath in his throat. _Yeah,_ he wanted to agree, but his voice was gone. He felt selfish. Selfish for being angry, selfish for being sad, selfish for wishing she had stayed, for the sting in his eyes and the nausea in his stomach and the rabbit-quick beating of his heart.

(He remembered seeing his classmates clamber off the bus and run towards their parents. He remembered the laughs and the choruses of “ _How was school today, sweetie?”_ in canon around him, out of time and out of sync and chaotic and loud. Cheerful and full of warmth, while he turned his back and walked alone towards one of many skeleton houses that would never feel like home.

He wondered how that would’ve changed, if Krolia had stayed. If she’d wait for him by the bus stop, listen to him ramble on about his riveting day in the second grade as she drove him home, made him a snack and chastised him about doing his homework while he made a mess out of his peanut butter crackers.

Then he felt stupid, because she was an alien, and life never would’ve been that simple, even if she had stuck around. Life never would’ve been _normal._ )

“I never wanted to leave you.” The repeated words fell from Krolia’s lips and despite the familiarity in their shape, it was still unnerving to hear the honesty in them. The claim that someone… _wanted_ him. Someone had wanted him all along. And maybe she hadn’t been there, making him snacks after school and loving him in small and profound ways like he'd been told a mother does, but she’d _wanted_ him, from across the stars, and that still meant something. It had to.

He didn’t trust his voice to be anything more than a weak, fragile thing as pressure continued to swell in his chest. He stayed silent.

Krolia sighed, and it was heavy in the air. “I have no excuses for you,” she said, like an apology, but still steady.  The corners of her mouth flickered as she lowered her eyes again.  “You deserve explanations, and I fully intend to provide them where I can, but—they will sound like excuses.” She shook her head. “That’s not the kind of impression I want to make.”

 _Good,_ he wanted to say, _I don’t want excuses_. He just wanted to understand _._

“How did you—” he found himself starting instead, but his voice faltered. He swallowed, trying to steel himself, trying to harden his resolve. “How did you end up on Earth?”

Head still lowered slightly, Krolia turned and paced slowly across the deck, though Keith hadn’t missed the severe way her eyebrows had drawn close, casting deep shadows over her eyes. “Kolivan had sent me on a solo mission,” she began.  Keith could hear the frown in her voice as she approached the weapons case. “Word had spread that Zarkon had the Red Lion in his possession. No one knew how long he’d had it, only that he was on the hunt for the others and had no intention of resting until he’d taken claim of Voltron once more.”

Keith’s jaw tightened, as his mind flashed back to that very first time he’d met Red, imprisoned on that cruiser and ambushed by alien soldiers. The first time he’d called to her, and she’d blocked him out.

 _Maybe she’d sensed the Galra in you,_ part of him considered. _Maybe she was scared. Maybe she thought you were like the others._

Then he felt stupid again, because _of course she’d sensed the Galra in him_ , but it wasn’t his blood that kept her from trusting him—Red was just skeptical. A cynic.  

It was a trait they had in common.

He took a step towards his mother without meaning to, hand outstretched slightly, before halting in his place again. She didn’t seem to notice, and he dropped his arm back to his side.

Krolia dragged a finger along the framing of the weapons case before tapping it once, twice, three times. Her sharp claw  _clinked_ softly against the Altean metal. “The Blade went on high alert,” she continued, voice even. “Dispatched agents to every corner of the galaxy, trying to locate the other Lions before Zarkon had the chance.” There was a slight pause, before she continued, hesitant. “It was an assignment. A mission. That’s all.”

Keith took a breath, long and deep, and he understood. “You were looking for the Blue Lion.”

Krolia turned to face him again, offering something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I was looking for _a_ Lion, yes,” she affirmed, and offered a nod. “I didn’t know which, or if it was even a Lion at all. All I had was a strange quintessence reading from the quadrant of the galaxy that Earth falls in, and orders to find its source. It was pure luck that my ship crashed in the right place, at the right time.”

Keith hesitated, just a tick, biting down on his bottom lip. He dropped his gaze to his hands. “Is that how—is that how you found Dad?”

Krolia ducked her head into another nod. Keith swore he saw the corner of her mouth quirk up, just a little. “Nearly blew up his dwelling, crashing down in the desert. He pulled me out of the wreckage, but the ship was unsalvageable.”

Something tightened in Keith’s bones, something sad. It sounded just like something his father would’ve done—pulling a mysterious, potentially hostile alien free of some cosmic shipwreck.

Again, Keith put the pieces together and understood. The idea of being stranded, trapped in a foreign place, on a foreign world, made his heart sink. The only one of your kind. Utterly alone. Except… she wasn’t alone, exactly. She’d had his father, and he wasn’t Galra, but she’d _had_ him, and that eased the ache deep in his chest, if only slightly.

“You were stuck on Earth,” he said softly.

When Krolia looked back up at him, her jaw was set. “There was no better place I could be,” she told him firmly, like there was no truth more evident to her in the galaxy.

Which was—kind of a lot to process.

Here she was: this badass, highly-skilled intelligence officer, an intergalactic spy, an elite, well-oiled machine of a soldier with the entire universe at the tips of her fingers. Claiming that Earth was the best place she could possibly be—his Earth. With his father. _With him._

It wasn’t explicit, but it was lingering just behind her words, and despite what Lance might jab, Keith was in no way _stupid._ He heard what she was saying.

He glanced down to his feet, clearing his throat. “So you—you crash,” he recapped out loud, trailing his eyes on his scuffed boots, trying to keep his voice steady and undoubtedly _failing_ , “and Dad finds you, and then… what? You just decide to stick around and have a kid?” His voice broke through the words, hoarse, and he glanced up at her once again. There was an odd desperation in his ears, thudding through his heartbeat, and he hoped Krolia couldn’t hear it shine through his wobbly words. He tried to swallow it back. “Doesn’t exactly seem your style, to abandon a mission like that.”

She returned his gaze with a small, careful smile, as she tipped her head. “You believe the best of people,” she commented instead, quietly, “even those of us undeserving. Your father was the same. But no.” The smile flicked away, and Krolia continued on before Keith could interject.  “It was never my intention to abandon the mission. At first, it was simply… taking the time to salvage what we could from the wreckage. But all communication systems were shot. I had no way to get in touch with Base, give them a status report. No way to get _home,_ as it were.”

Keith’s eyebrows drew together, feeling another pang of _something_ for her. Sympathy? Pity? “What’d you do?”

There was nostalgia in her eyes, just a flash, before she turned away again. Keith found his heart lurching as she paced away again. Wanting, incomprehensibly, to _reach out_ for her. “Tried to fix the system,” she replied, like a sigh, before shaking her head. “It took some time. Almost three of Earth’s sun cycles, in total. Three years.”

Something twisted behind his ribs. _She’d been there for three years?_  Again, he felt himself frown, stepping forward, closer. “And in the meantime?”

“We looked for the Blue Lion.” She said it simply, like it was the most logical thing in the world. “The quintessence mapping wasn’t as badly damaged, so we had somewhere to start. Took us about a year to find it, but the locations systems patched through my ship’s mainframe must’ve been accessible to some region of the Empire or another. A few weeks after we found the Lion, we were ambushed.” 

Keith frowned. “Ambushed?”

Once again, Krolia’s eyebrows drew together intensely, a small crease appearing in her forehead. “Pirates. Looking to capture the Blue Lion and sell it off to the Empire in exchange for their immunity. We stopped them, your father and I, but—”

For the first time, her voice wavered, and she broke off with a sharp breath. Hesitating, she brought her hands together, frowning down at her fingers as she picked at her claws—an unexpectedly human gesture. “It was a turning point,” she continued, lower, _slower,_ like she was still figuring out the words she wanted to say. They seemed heavier, harder for her to get out. “If some common pirates were able to get a lock on the Blue Lion’s location through my systems, it was only a matter of time before envoys from the Empire did, too. I couldn’t let that happen.”

There was something dense sitting in Keith’s stomach, as he pictured Krolia and his father, side-by-side, fighting back waves and waves of Empire soldiers. “So you stayed to protect Blue,” he figured quietly. “You abandoned the mission to protect her from the Empire.”

Without looking up, Krolia’s frown deepened as she offered a nod. “We disabled all systems, shut everything down on my ship and the pirates’ ships alike. Did everything we could to keep Earth out of the Empire’s eyes. Flew under the radar. And for a while, we just… were.”

There was a pause in her words, and Keith found himself waiting with bated breath.

After a beat that used far too much time to pass, Krolia let out a slow exhale through her nose. “The peace lasted a little over a year,” she continued, softer, and glanced up at him again. Something shifted in her expression, some strange caution webbing through her eyes. “I had stayed to protect the Blue Lion, but by the time the Empire’s scouts finally touched down, I had an entirely new charge to care for—to protect.”

Again, Keith reveled in the richness of her voice. The smooth care laced into her words, solid and adamant. Warmth seeped through her expression, that had been so severe with caution and precision and sharp edges, and Keith held onto it.

 _Me,_ he thought, a little numb, _she’s talking about me._

“And that is why I had to go,” Krolia continued, and when Keith blinked, her face had shifted into something more guarded, but somehow still soft. He could see the pain there, where it was before undetectable, and Keith couldn’t tell if it was because they were so similar that he could read her so well, or if it had just hurt so much that it was finally cracking her mask wide open. He suspected the latter.

The breath he took rattled through his chest, again, burned in his lungs. “How old was I?” he asked, unsure if he even wanted an answer.

But he asked, so Krolia provided, as she’d promised she would. “Around five months, when the scouts attacked,” she told him, “just under a year when I left. It took some time to salvage enough parts to fix up one of the fighter jets the scouts had brought, but almost as soon as that was done…”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t really have to.

Under a year. She hadn’t even gotten to his first birthday before the universe ripped her away. That thought, somehow, made the whole thing even _worse_. “I’m sorry,” Keith expressed, sincere. “Krolia, I’m—I’m so _sorry.”_

“I am not,” she returned easily, watching him with eyes just as honest. “I had a new mission: alert the Blades of the Blue Lion’s whereabouts, and divert Empire attention away from Earth. It was the only way to keep you safe. Both of you.” A beat, the slightest hesitation. “All of you,” she amended, almost sadly, and shook her head. “He was a good man when I knew him, Keith. A great man. A great _father.”_

Keith’s throat closed around whatever his response would’ve been, so he just hummed slightly, willing his breath to come back to him and rubbing his hands along the seat of his pants.

There was a beat of silence that passed between them, and Keith glanced down. He swallowed, but the lump in his throat remained, persistent. “Did—did Kolivan know? Who I was?”

He felt more than saw her expression shift, and when he glanced back up, there was a heat in her eyes again. Still, she stayed silent.

Keith sighed. “When he sent me to get you off that ship,” he continued, elaborating, pressing forward despite the swell of pressure bearing down on his lungs.  “When I showed up with your blade, and he put me through the Trials. Did he know I was your son? That you’d been out there, all this time, and I had no idea?”

Krolia hesitated slightly, but that glint in her eyes never wavered as she dropped her head into a curt nod. “Yes. Kolivan knew.”

Keith nodded, too, feeling his own jaw tighten. It’s what he figured, but getting confirmation felt like an undeserved slap in the face. “And he just, what, decided not to tell me?” His hands balled into fists at his sides. “I’ve been with the Blades for _months,_ and he doesn’t care enough to mention it?”

Krolia’s lips twisted downward, a cross between anger and distaste. “I have had my choice words with Kolivan,” she muttered, and he could only imagine what _choice_ _words_ meant, but if that edge of fury in her eyes was any indication, he was pretty certain it wasn’t just a pleasant little chat. “Believe me, little one—you are not the only one frustrated with our dear leader for withholding certain truths.”

All Keith could do was tighten his jaw further, words lost in what almost felt like a betrayal.

A handful of ticks passed before Krolia spoke again. “I would not fault you for hating me, kit.”

The words were said plainly, honestly. Keith heard himself in their bluntness, his anger fading on a dime.

“I am grateful the universe has brought me back to you,” she was continuing, steady, and she was looking at him again. Holding his gaze with her own, serious and passionate and earnest as she shook her head. “And I would very much like the chance to get to know this wonderful man you’ve become. But only on your terms, and only if it’s what you want.”

 _She’s giving me a choice,_ he realized, as if there was a doubt in his mind what he wanted. But his thoughts were also stuttering, a little bit, because _she thought he hated her,_ and she’d called him _wonderful,_ and she thinks he’s _wonderful_ even though he _hates her—_

 _—_ but he didn’t hate her. She has to know that, doesn’t she? On some level, she must understand that he didn’t—that he’d resented her for what felt like forever but he could never _actually—_

He blinked at her, swallowing, and shook his head. “I don’t hate you,” he said then, because he wasn’t really sure she knew. Sure, he’d been hurt, and he’d been angry, and it was a messy painting full of blurry lines and razor-sharp edges, but he didn’t _hate_ her.

(It would be so easy to hate her. It would be easy to hate her, because then he wouldn’t have to deal with the mix of guilt and sorrow and sympathy twisted up in his chest, he could just… hurt, and hate, and that would be all.)

“I don’t hate you, Krolia,” he repeated, and felt his own expression soften. “I—I don’t want to lie and say I’m ready to forgive and forget, or anything, but…” Again, he shook his head. “I definitely don’t want you to think I hate you.”

Krolia’s mask cracked again, at that, just a glimpse of relief before she ducked her head low once more.

But Keith wanted to… he wanted to _look_ at her, he wanted to understand and he wanted _her_ to understand, so he took a step closer again and didn’t stop himself from reaching a hand out to place tentatively on her arm. She glanced at him again, startled at the touch, and he offered something as close to a smile as he could muster. “A note really would’ve been great,” he told her, but there wasn’t any heat in his voice. “A heads-up about the whole half-alien, intergalactic war thing, you know? But I’m not—”

And the smile faded, brows drawing together in his sincerity.

“—I’m not gonna hold that over your head, or anything. You were protecting me. I get it.” He paused. “I _appreciate_ it. And if we’re being honest, I… probably would’ve done the same thing, if I was in your shoes.”

Krolia watched him for a moment, before shaking her head mildly. “No,” she disagreed, “I don’t think you would. I can see it in you, Keith—you’d never abandon your family. You say you have, by leaving Voltron, but from where I’m standing the only person you’ve turned your back on is yourself.”

And… that felt kind of like a brick to the face, as well, and something lurched in his throat. “You don’t even know me,” he said weakly, an echo of something sharper and angrier, though free of malice. Tired, not trite. “I’ve done some… pretty cowardly things, these past few months. The past few years, really.”

Then there was a touch on his arm, and again, it was far gentler than he ever imagined she could be. Her fingers curled around his shoulder, and there was a sad smile pulling at her lips. “We all do cowardly things when we are scared, little one,” she assured, her voice soft, “and when we are hurting. Those things do not taint your character.”

There was a pause, a beat of silence, and something unsteady swelled in his chest as Krolia squeezed his shoulder. “I am… very proud of you, Keith. Truly.”

The heat behind his eyes was back—that dangerous sting, only growing stronger as he relaxed under her touch. With a shuddering breath, he gave her a nod. “Yes.”

A flicker of confusion crossed Krolia’s features, giving her pause. “Yes?”

Exhaling deeply, shakily, he nodded again. “Yes,” he repeated, and closed his eyes when his vision began to blur. “You said it was my decision, and I’m—I’m saying yes. I’d like to… do this. Get to know you.” He opened his eyes quickly, before he lost his nerve. “If that’s—if you want to.”

A small smile returned to Krolia’s face, warm and grateful, and before Keith realized what was happening, she was tugging him closer.  “I can assure you, kit,” she murmured, and Keith felt the words at the crown of his head, where she’d pressed her cheek to his hair, her arms strong and secure as they circled his shoulders. “I have never wanted anything more.”

And Keith was… still getting used to the whole _physical affection_ thing, but the Paladins were a touchy group, prone to hair ruffling and shoulder squeezes and frequent casual embraces, so it wasn’t as unsettling as it might’ve been _before_. And after a handful of ticks he felt himself relaxing into her grip, relishing in this feeling of comfort as he rested his forehead down to her shoulder.

He couldn’t lift his arms to return the gesture. His limbs were heavy and he took in a ragged breath, squeezing his eyes shut when he felt his mother pull him closer. But for all that he wanted to, he couldn’t return the gesture.

Instead, for the second time in less than twelve hours, he let himself be held, not bothering to stem the insistent tears burning behind his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Ya girl is back on her bullshit
> 
> On a personal note, I really do want to apologize for the delay in getting this content out. Life's been kicking my butt these past few months, and between that, a new semester starting up in college, and a couple of impromptu stays at the hospital, things just... weren't happening, in life. I wrote a few one-shots, but thinking about this longer piece was really difficult. So I'm sorry for that. But I am definitely back and things are going better! 
> 
> Now for fun news: while there's only the a little bit left for Fortunate Son, there's plenty more to come in this universe, with more action and plot and actual space war conflicts. So I'm planning a sequel! And since I started this waaaaaaay back after season 5, I'm going to try and circle back to what's happened through the end of canon in SOME ways, not all. There will definitely be changes, some canon-adjacent elements I'd like to pull into this AU-ish story so... yeah. That's a thing that's happening.
> 
> Again, sorry for the long A/N, just wanted to update y'all 
> 
> Comments and always welcome! I really love hearing from you guys


	9. Loyalty to Kin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch is served. Dishes are washed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ch. 9 was originally supposed to be the last chapter, but then it ended up being like 10k words long, and then i ended up adding even more bc I have no willpower, so I broke it up again
> 
> c'est la vie
> 
> viva la revolución
> 
> ***KEITH'S POV***

Hunk had just finished preparing lunch when they made it up to the dining hall. It smelled _divine,_ and Keith was hit with a fresh wave of dread about returning to Base, with its bland, tasteless food and bland, tasteless people.

He did give them credit, though, where credit was due—the Marmora ( _Marmorites,_ Lance’s voice jeered at him mentally) knew what they were doing, and Keith had learned more from them in the past _however_ many months than he had all his time as a cadet. And they weren’t all no-nonsense and stiff, they just… took the war seriously. As they should. They were one of the resistance’s deadliest weapons, and it was _because_ they took it so seriously. They wouldn’t have survived for all of these years otherwise, without the rigorous training and the mental discipline and the tests that pushed agents to their breaking points, and Keith saw that first hand.

But it was still disheartening. To look at this colorful, loud, warm group of people around him and know that one day—someday _too soon—_ he’d be walking away again. To live in a place that was too dark, full of people that were too dark, doing things that were too dark.

It still felt like abandonment, no matter what Krolia had told him.

“Hey, Keith—pass those tuber things, would ya?”

He blinked, coming back to himself and glancing to Pidge, who nodded at the bowl of the yellow, root-like vegetables in front of him. He lifted it and handed it over, listening as Shiro spoke from across the table.

“So, Krolia,” he began, scooping some curry-like sauce over what passed as the Dishevek version of rice. “Keith told me you’ve been working an infiltration mission for the Blades, scoping out a leg of that new quintessence-trafficking ring. You make any kind of headway?”

From the seat to his right, Krolia sent him a side-eyed glance, admonishing. “That mission is classified,” she said pointedly, and Keith hunkered lower into his seat, ears burning. He got enough lectures from Kolivan about protocol—he _really_ didn’t need any more, especially from his newly-acquainted, superspy alien mother.

But then Krolia smiled a little, almost fond, before returning her gaze to Shiro’s, the gold of her eyes glinting. “I was stationed on a warship cruiser,” she began, tilting her head. “A long-term, deep-cover assignment I began not long after leaving Earth. It started out very straightforward: gather intel on the warlord Ranveig, who was a highly ranked officer in the Empire. Then things got… complicated.”

“Wait, hold on. Was?” Hunk backpedaled, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. “ _Was_ a highly ranked officer? As in—is no longer?”

Krolia, again, tilted her head. An almost-nod.  “We, ah—he is no longer a threat, most easily put.”

“We blew up his ship,” Keith deadpanned. “Unleashed some kind of quintessence-enhanced superweapon that destroyed everything it touched. Kind of his fault, for keeping it on the ship in the first place, but.” He squinted, turning to Krolia curiously. “I’m still unclear on what it actually _was_ , though. The weapon.”

“And you will remain unclear until we speak with Kolivan for a full mission debrief,” she returned firmly, and there it was, that Blade training showing itself through steely eyes, through unwavering words. “Considering you vanished before we were able to complete one.”

Keith grimaced in distaste—he was still angry with Kolivan for lying to him—and returned his attention to his plate. He felt a hand squeeze his knee under the table and his gaze flicked the other way, to the blue eyes watching him carefully from the seat to his immediate left.

Almost instantly he felt more at ease, seeing the care in Lance’s eyes, the concern hiding behind the smile that graced his lips.

Keith covered Lance’s hand with his own, still cupped around his knee, and squeezed back. A reassurance. He was okay. If he wasn’t, he would be—especially if Lance kept looking at him like that, all soft and sincere and warm.

God, he was turning into such a sap _._

Krolia went on, explaining the evolution of her mission from one of reconnaissance to one of _wow, this quintessence stuff is horrifying,_ and Keith found himself listening intently, only knowing half of the story himself. There were parts she glossed over—things that were definitely confidential, because mother or not, there were some details she dare not disclose—but soon she painted a nearly comprehensive picture of the what they’d learned.

Shiro and Allura went into Leader Mode, absorbing all the information they could while they listened, inquiring about this new, purified quintessence and the extent of its presence in the Empire. They asked questions. They speculated. Krolia answered, to the best she could, while maintaining that air of caution, offering her own opinions here are there. Pidge and Hunk piped in, musing about what kind of radioactive signature that could lend their weapons, how it could open up paths to new tracking algorithms. It was…

…weirdly civil? Domestic and foreign, as if they were all discussing some book they’d just read or some film they’d seen instead of cosmic war strategies. But it brought a smile to Keith’s lips as he happily shoveled delicious, alien food into his mouth, one hand still interlocked with Lance’s under the table.

He didn’t feel the need to interject in this conversation. Didn’t want to sour his mood with talk of a war that, at times, seemed unwinnable. And these people were loud and bright around him, so he let himself bask in that, and decided to deal with the rest later.

Emotional vulnerability was _exhausting,_ turns out, and he was starving.

So he ate, praising Hunk for the job well done and watching the Yellow Paladin preen at his words. Soon enough conversation drifted away from war strategies and began down a familiar path of storytelling, full of dramatics and exuberance and laughter, and Krolia was laughing a bit too, a low kind of chuckle hitching through her breath as she listened to the recounting of the Paladins’ antics, and Keith secretly relished in the fact that they appeared to be getting along so well.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if they wound up hating her. The fact that their support was so steady, so readily available and… _all-encompassing?..._ definitely made everything easier to come to terms with.  Infinitely easier, really, though he wouldn’t put it past them to turn their heels on a dime if she ever hurt him so deeply like that again.

He didn’t think she would. Didn’t think she _could,_ now that he’s met her. But the thought was still comforting, knowing that they’d have his back if she turned out to be just another name on his already too-long list of temporary family.

When Allura invited her to stay the night in one of the Castle’s guest quarters, Krolia didn’t hesitate to accept. She mentioned having to clear it with Kolivan, which Keith bristled at, before her resolve waivered visibly and she sent him something like a smile.

“Though I suppose chatting with that old _trovak_ can wait until morning,” she backtracked drily, the Galran word easy on her tongue. “He deserves it, after what he’s pulled. Besides—I believe your Earth phrase goes, it is better to ask forgiveness than permission?”

Keith had to stifle his smile, at that, ducking his head to hide his face. Because she was choosing him over protocol _,_ and that was a _really big thing_ in the Blades, and he got the message loud and clear. She wasn’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon.

Beside him, Lance let out a snort.

“Holy crow,” he laughed, “everything makes _so much sense now._ ”

Keith sent him a questioning glance before, across the table, Hunk made an exasperated noise. “I told you _,”_ he agreed, flailing the poultry-like-alien meat he still clutched, “it’s like seeing double. They’re practically the same _person,_ you guys.” He turned his attention to Krolia, pointing at her with the drumstick. “ _You’re_ the reason he’s like this.”

“Like _what?”_ Keith and Krolia questioned in tandem, Keith defensive, Krolia weary.

Suppressing what appeared to be his own amusement, a smile tugged at Shiro’s lips. “You have to admit, Keith,” he agreed, obviously tickled, “you’re practically the king of asking for forgiveness over permission.”

Keith felt his face twist into a scowl. “I am _not—”_

 _“_ Who was it,” Shiro interrupted, raising an eyebrow at him, “that broke into the simulator afterhours just to prove that he could run the Level 5 _Etherio_ mission solo?”

Keith almost wilted at the jibe. Almost. “You’re forgetting the part where I _did_ it,” he countered, sitting up straighter, “and got recruited for the _Bezanson_ sim trials crew because of it.”

“Sure,” Shiro agreed easily, “after receiving six demerits and a two-week suspension _.”_

“But they didn’t kick me out,” Keith pointed out, a familiar back-and-forth. “And they would’ve _,_ if I hadn’t aced that _Etherio_ run on my first try.”

“You’re missing the point, Keith.”

“Would they have let me try that simulation if I had asked permission?” Keith retorted, but there was no malice in it, and he raised his eyebrows. “No. No they wouldn’t.”

Shiro huffed a breath, and though it looked like he was attempting to suppress it in favor of being stern in his chastisement, a smile tugged at his lips. “ _You were fourteen years old._ That simulation was designed for a crew of three fourth or fifth-year cadets. _”_

“Are we still arguing about this?” Keith questioned. “How are we still arguing about this, actual lightyears later? Let it _go,_ you overgrown six-year-old.”

And Shiro just rolled his eyes, giving in and grinning, and Keith shook his head with a smile, too, as he lifted his water pouch to his lips.

Krolia watched the back-and-forth banter with amusement in her eyes. “You were a pilot on Earth, as well, then?” she surmised, glancing to Keith.

Tilting his head, Keith placed his drink back to the table. “Ah—sorta. Training to be one, I guess. We all were.”

“Except Shiro,” Pidge clarified. “He’s the only one that actually got to graduate, hold an actual rank. The rest of us were just cadets. Hunk was in the mechanical engineering class, and I was computer engineering and communications. Keith and Lance were fighter pilots.”

Krolia nodded in understanding, though her expression seemed to darken. It wasn’t an unusual twist to her mouth—they’d seen it before, when allies across the galaxy have realized that the legendary Voltron Paladins, the Defenders of the Universe, were a bunch of relatively untrained _kids._

“The Galaxy Garrison?” Krolia asked then, looking between them, and Keith frowned.

“Yeah,” he affirmed, eyebrows drawing together. “How’d you—?”

“Your father,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly, as if shaking off an old memory. “He offered to send to them for assistance, while attempting to get my ship into working conditions.” She glanced at Keith again, shrugging slightly, with only one shoulder. “You can imagine my wariness about involving an entire barrack of military personnel.”

Picturing how Shiro’s arrival had been handled—vivid images of a man he considered both his hero and his brother strapped down to an examination table and sedated—sent shudders down Keith’s spine. He nodded in understanding. If they’d done that to _Shiro_ , golden child, pilot extraordinaire, well. Keith didn’t really want to think about how they’d handle the arrival of actual aliens.

“He mentioned it was a school, as well,” Krolia continued, and there was something sinking in Keith’s stomach. “He was recruited to teach there, long ago, but he turned them down. Said he’d prefer to remain a—”

“—fireman,” Keith finished, a little too sharp for his own liking, before tightening his jaw. “Yeah. I know.” _Change the subject. Please change the subject._

Krolia seemed to understand, and she ducked her head apologetically. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know. It’s fine.”

Krolia pressed her lips together tightly, and Lance’s fingers squeezed tighter around his own.

Slowly, after a pause, Lance let out a breath. “So… the Garrison,” he chirped, a little bit forced, but Keith was grateful for the effort.

“The Garrison,” Krolia agreed, not yet moving her eyes from Keith. She watched him a moment longer before shifting her gaze away to regard the rest of the team. “I am sorry to hear you were unable to finish your studies, Paladins. Hopefully upon your return, you’ll have the chance to formally graduate. Receive the ranks you’ve earned, far and wide.”

Something twisted in Keith’s gut. He felt the same way, of course—hopeful that when they finally made it back to Earth, the team would receive the recognition they deserved, would be given the chance to officially receive their titles. But a sinking park of his gut knew that that would never be his reality.

Hell, he probably had better odds just staying up in space altogether. He had a better chance of receiving a promotion in the Blade than he did of receiving anything resembling an official rank on Earth. And the likelihood of him receiving a promotion in the Blades was, he knew, slim to none. Not so long as he was some kind of defiant, half-bred runt.

So much for holding onto that happy mood he’d been in. His ears burned again and he hunkered lower into his seat, averting his gaze.

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk teased, Keith’s apprehension going unnoticed, “maybe after all this, you’ll finally be able to beat Keith’s simulator scores.”

Lance flashed a smile, one of those beautiful, thousand-watt grins of his, and nudged Keith with his elbow good-naturedly. “I don’t know, man—most of his scores beat even _Shiro’s._ I think it might be time I throw in the towel on that end.” He turned to Krolia, his grin turning soft and proud, though Keith couldn’t find it in him to feel comforted by it. “Keith was the best fighter pilot of his year,” he boasted. “Top of his class.”

A smile twitched its way to Krolia’s face. “That explains the acrobatics in the jet,” she commented, almost teasing, and Keith dragged his gaze lower still.

Somewhere in his head, a voice nagged him about his _flair for the dramatic._ It sounded suspiciously like Lance, but he pushed it away and forced a smile that was more of a grimace, his shame transforming into something tired and bitter. “Yeah, well,” he acknowledged, “flying’s kind of the only thing I’ve ever been decent at, and I still ended up getting kicked out. So.”

The smile faded on a dime, Krolia’s eyebrows drawing together again. “Kicked out?”

“Expelled,” he confirmed, bobbing his head in a nod. “Disciplinary issues. _”_

(He could still hear Iverson’s words rattling around in his head: “ _Get your ungrateful mug out of my office, cadet, before I have you escorted out. I don’t want to see hide nor hair of you near Garrsion grounds again, is that clear?)_

(He’d tried to argue, _but sir,_ he’d tried so hard to stay, _I don’t have anything else,_ he didn’t want to go, _please don’t make me leave_ , Shiro was _gone_ and _I don’t have anyone else_ —

—but then Iverson threatened to call the cops on him, charge him with assault and get him thrown back in juvey. And he knew there would be no one to bail him out this time around, so he just straightened his spine, offered one last salute, and resigned himself to the fact that it was stupid to think he could actually do this piloting thing anyways.)

Krolia narrowed her eyes at him, and there was an unpleasant twinge of _something_ in his chest under her gaze, something shy amidst that sinking feeling, and he shifted in his seat. He still couldn’t make himself meet her gaze.

“I punched my CO in the eye during third period,” he blurted, feeling the urge to explain himself. “Gave him a permanent wink. Perforated cornea, or something. I dunno.”

There was a beat of silence before anyone spoke. “Wait,” Pidge said, voice abnormally high and eyes wide. She sounded positively gleeful.  “That’s what happened to his eye? That was _you?”_

Again, Keith shifted in his chair. Things had been going so well, and here he is, ruining it all for himself, slowly but surely. He scowled down at the table again, shrugging, wishing he could just sink through the floor.

“You never did tell me why you were expelled,” Shiro murmured then, his own eyebrows drawing together.

“Because Iverson was being a royal dickwad,” Keith snapped, eyes flicking to him sharply, “and spreading lies about what happened on Kerberos.”

Shiro blinked. “He—what?”

Keith’s fingers curled into fists, still gripping his fork in his right hand. “Kept saying how you were always a _bad seed,”_ he quoted, “and _unreliable,_ and that there were _extenuating circumstances_ they should have considered with more weight before approving you for the field. Set up a fucking _Kerberos rescue mission_ simulation as a crew training exercise. Who the hell does he think he is?”

Shiro sighed heavily, pinching the scarred bridge of his nose with his human fingers. “Keith—”

“Pilot error my right fucking _foot,_ Takashi,” Keith cut him off, dropping his fork to his plate with a sharp clang and crossing his arms defiantly. “No one gets to say that. You were the best pilot to walk through those ugly-ass Garrison doors—I wasn’t about to let some washed up, grumpy old man spread lies about you just because the Garrison was too stuck-up to admit that they had no idea what happened on that stupid moon. No. Absolutely fucking not.”

There was a stretch of silence that followed the outburst, and though Keith only had eyes on Shiro, who looked a strange mix of pained and apologetic and displeased and _grateful_ , he felt the eyes watch him from the rest of the room.

Another beat passed before the silence was broken, someone clearing their throat. “Ah,” Coran hummed from the end of the table, forever chipper, “have a few things to get off our chest, don’t we, Number Four?”

And that was—well, _ridiculous,_ because all he’d been doing for the past too-many hours was _getting things off his chest,_ but it broke the tension in the room, and slowly, from around the table, the quiet in the air leaked away by way of stifled snickering coming from Pidge, and then from Hunk, and then Lance—  

“I don't think I’ve ever heard you string together that many words at once before, mullet.”

Keith hesitated for a tick, but there was no malice in Lance’s voice, so after a moment he chuckled a little bit, too, feeling stupid.  He dropped his head to his hands, scrubbing at his face as he spoke again. “Ah—sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologized. When he looked up he moved his gaze back to Shiro, who appeared like he was gearing up for A Talk: eyebrows drawn, lips pursed and puled slightly to the side in thought, leaning forward a bit at the edge of his seat.  Quickly, Keith held up a hand. “And don’t look at me like that, Shiro—I _know_ it was stupid. I don’t need another lecture.”

Shiro blinked slowly, before his expression morphed, affronted, shoulders slumping slightly. “Wait a second, I don’t _lecture—”_

“Yes, you do,” all four teenagers answered as one, and when Shiro snapped his mouth shut with narrowing eyes, Lance shot him an apologetic grin.

“Not a bad thing,” he assured, “but _definitely_ a lecturer. It’s cool, though—it’s part of what makes you a great Space Dad.”

“ _Would you stop calling me—”_

 _“_ Nope,” Lance denied, lips popping around the ‘p’. “Not gonna happen.”

Shiro threw his hands up in exasperation. “I’m not even that much older—” he protested, before reeling himself in, placing both hands flat on the table again and redirecting his gaze towards Keith. “ _The point,”_ he circled back, “is that the circumstance doesn’t _matter._ You shouldn’t have punched a senior officer, regardless of what he was saying—”

“I think Keith was quite justified.”

Again, Shiro’s words died on his lips, expression stuttering to a halt, and Keith felt his own eyes widen in confusion. He looked to Krolia, blinking. “You do?” he asked in disbelief.

Krolia frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “Of course,” she assured, without hesitation. “This officer—Iverson. He was disrespecting someone you’d call family. I see nothing wrong with taking action against this.”

Silence settled again, for a moment, as skeptical eyes from around the room settled on Krolia, varying stages of incredulity and disbelief. After a tick, something like understanding flashed through her expression and she ducked her head forward, frowning deeper.

“I apologize,” she said then, shaking her head. “I didn’t realize it was different on Earth. The Galra, we are more… bond driven?” She hesitated for a few ticks, before shaking her head again, seeming unable to formulate her thoughts. “ _Avkrod,_ we call it. A loyalty to kin. If someone is harming or disrespecting kin, it’s quite common for _avkrod_ to come to each other’s defense.” Another pause. “This is… not the case, for Earthlings?”

A beat of silence passed again.

Across the table, Shiro watched Keith closely before closing his eyes. He scrubbed at his face with both hands, looking exhausted. “God. Lance was right. Everything makes so much sense.”

 “Wait,” Pidge cut in, and turned to Krolia. “Hold on. You’re saying that Keith punching Iverson in the face for being a dick about Shiro would be _accepted,_ among other Galra? Just up and decking a military official that holds rank?”

Krolia glanced at Keith silently, before offering a nod. “If that military official had been insulting his _avkrod,_ then yes. Not without consequence, necessarily, but… expected, even.”

A wash of something warm came over Keith. Relief, maybe?

He wasn’t sure what it was, really, but it almost didn't matter. All he knew was that he’d been tagged as violent and aggressive for his whole life, and his expulsion was no exception. It almost felt like penance _,_ to know that there was a reason why he was the way that he was. To finally have some answers.

And, sure—maybe most of those answers boiled down to not really being human _,_ entirely, and maybe it would always be a little unnerving to discover the parts of himself that were distinctly _other,_ distinctly Galra _,_ but they were answers.

Turns out that quick-to-defend thing was just… in his nature. Half of his nature, anyway. It wasn’t because he was _defective._ It wasn't because he was broken or wrong or bad. He was just... more prone to being protective of family. Sometimes too-protective, he'd admit, and while it was a trait that's caused him immeasurable amounts strife in the past, Keith would never consider it to be a bad thing. 

It explained that embarrassingly soft, warm, happy feeling he got when he was with his friends. Bond-driven. _Loyalty to kin_.

Lance was squeezing his arm gently. Startled from his reverie, Keith blinked at him, meeting vibrant eyes with his own. Around the table, discussion had continued, small pockets of different conversations floating to his ears, words like “ _cultural flaws”_ and “ _vulnerabilities”_ and “ _used to manipulate”,_ but all Keith could focus on was Lance.

“You okay, samurai?” the paladin murmured, watching him with concern, and Keith felt another smile tug at his lips. This time, he let it.

“Yeah,” he assured honestly, “I’m good, Lance. Really.”

And Lance returned the smile with his own, and it was small but still so genuine, and the realization hit Keith like a freight train.

He couldn’t leave.

He’d known that he didn’t _want_ to leave, right from the get-go. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to leave the first time around. But it was inevitable. He wasn’t a paladin. He didn’t have a _place_ in Voltron, anymore, even if he now understood the distinction between having a place as a paladin and having a place in their family. And knowing that they wanted him there, paladin or not, was a great comfort. He was family. And he got that, now. He _heard them_ , even if it was still something he had to consciously remind himself.

But this was the first time he truly realized that he _couldn’t_ leave. Realized that, if he left, there would be a gaping hole in his chest where his family resided, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to breathe.

It was almost like his time with the Blades had stripped him of something human, and being home had taught him how to _feel_ again. He didn’t want to give that up. Not again. Never again.

Having Krolia with him at Base would probably help, but that whole situation was still delicate and new, and it would be a long time before she felt like home. Not like the team did, anyway.

But he kept his troubles to himself. Things had been—too much, too intense, those past few hours, and he was tired. So he kept them to himself, shot Lance another reassuring smile, and dove back into his food.

He’d put them all through so much, already, and there was no point in hoping for a miracle.

 

* * *

 

The rest of lunch wrapped up without a hitch, and the team broke off for a few hours before their evening training exercises and dinner. Keith had retreated back to his room to take a shower—

( _“Want some company?” Lance teased, waggling his eyebrows. “I can help with some of those darn hard-to-reach places—”_

 _“God, Lance—in front of my_ actual _mother? Are we kidding?”)_

—before setting out to find Krolia again. He half-expected to find her in the training room, laying waste to some more unsuspecting gladiators. Instead, he found her in the kitchen, leisurely washing the dishes from lunch.

He leaned against the doorway with crossed arms, raising an eyebrow at her. “You know there’s a dishwasher for that, right?”

Krolia glanced over her shoulder towards him, smiling slightly. “I find it soothing,” she told him. “And I have been idle for too long. I enjoy being useful.”

Keith nodded a little bit, because he understood. He hated sitting around. He always had too much pent-up energy, and sitting around always made him antsy and ready to punch something. He nodded to the dishes. “Want some help?”

Her smile grew, just a fraction, and she ducked her head in invitation.

Keith took up the other side of the sink, pulling a drawer open and retrieving one of the towels folded inside. The fabric was… not the most absorbent, if memory served him correctly, but he said nothing as Krolia handed over the large bowl she’d just finished rinsing off.

They worked in companionable silence for a while, Krolia washing and Keith drying, and he stacked the dishes on the counter beside the sink when they were done.

After a few doboshes, Krolia cast him a sideways glance. “You have a soft spot for the Black Paladin,” she observed, words careful.

For a moment, Keith considered brushing the comment off. Keeping his sensitivities to himself, drowned out in the sound of the streaming faucet water. “Of course I do,” he said instead, reaching for the plate she offered. “He’s my brother.”

Krolia hummed as Keith wiped the plate dry, stacking it neatly to the side along with the others. “And the Red Paladin?” she went on, and arched an eyebrow, passing him a glass. “Is he a brother too?”

Keith nearly dropped it, entire body faltering at the words. “I— _no_ ,” he denied quickly, strangled. “No, not at all.”

“But you have a soft spot for him, as well.”

It was less of a question than a statement, and Keith felt his ears grow hot. “I—” he began, but…

…could he really deny it? When every time he thought about Lance—about the constellations of freckles over that thousand-watt smile; about warm, steady arms wrapped around his shoulders; about relentless chatter that was loud and overwhelming and _wonderful_ —he got this embarrassing fond feeling and a stupid, blissful smile threatened to crack his face in half?

He cleared his throat, securing his grip on the glass again. “I do,” he agreed quietly, and dried the dish. Spent an extra moment, ensuring all wetness had been wiped away from its surface, before placing it upside down next to the plates. He lifted an eyebrow, sparing her a glance.  “I have a soft spot for all of them in some way, I think—if you’re gonna be picky like that.”

A beat passed where Krolia only hummed again, the rush of streaming water a comfortable lull around them.

When the last dish was washed and painstakingly dried—really, Keith’s memory proved correct, Altean towels just _pushed_ the water around, and for such an advanced civilization it was downright _inefficient_ —Krolia turned to him abruptly. “It is time.”

Keith blinked, handing the towel to her. “What?” he questioned, not understanding. “Time for what?”

But then Krolia was drying her hands and tossing the towel back to the counter. “Come,” she said, turning away and towards the door, beckoning him to follow. “Gather the Paladins. I will get the Princess and her advisor. Meet us on the bridge in half a varga.” And then she was walking away. 

Keith blinked again for a moment before taking a breath, and following her out.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (what's a plot line???? don't know her)


	10. Fortunate One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith doesn't have to suffer for the universe to thrive.
> 
> (Kolivan cares more than Keith thinks, and Krolia is still a badass)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hi to kolivan folks
> 
> also sorry, this chapter turned out to be??? super duper dialogue heavy
> 
> ***KEITH'S POV***

They stood outside the doors to the bridge, and briefly, Keith was reminded of the last time he’d lingered here.

It seemed like lifetimes ago, now, wearing that form-fitting Marmora suit in place of his current, softened civvies. Last time, he’d felt so constricted, like he couldn’t breathe properly, like his muscles were tight and taut and there had been a rabbit-quick shuddering in his chest that he couldn’t control. Last time, he’d been running from the concept of a mother, running towards the people now standing at his side.

He hadn’t realized, at the time, how stabilizing they were. How much he needed them to ground him. Last time he’d lingered here, his world had been crumbling around him, and he’d felt so utterly alone. Last time, he’d been afraid. This time he was not. That might’ve been the biggest difference of them all.

He’d never had to rely on people before, let alone had anyone to rely _on._ He realized how foolish he had been, to think he still didn’t.

Hunk shifted from foot to foot beside him. “Hey, uh, Keith?” he asked, hesitant. “Buddy? You kinda dragged us all out here, and not that I’m complaining about spending time together or anything, but I have three loaves of bread in the oven and now we’re. Well. We’re not even going in?”

Keith sighed, glancing at the ticker on his wrist. “It’s not time yet,” he replied simply. “Krolia said half a varga—she still has almost four doboshes.”

Lance squinted his eyes, tilting his head to the side. “Time for _what_?” he asked, gaze so focused it was almost as if he was trying to see _through_ the doors.

Keith held back a wince, shrugging instead. Despite his lacking fear, he could notice the team’s waning patience, and tried not to feel guilty for pulling the team from their precious, treasured _chill time_.

“I dunno,” he admitted. “She just told me to get everyone.”

Lance snorted. “So the crypticness is genetic,” he teased, “got it.”

Keith opened his mouth to protest, but then Lance was surging forward and activating the motion detectors, the doors sliding open with an audible _whoosh._ Keith made some kind of affronted noise in the back of his throat and grabbed for him—his arm, his shirt, his _anything_ —but Lance squirmed out of his reach and waltzed inside.

Groaning, he felt a large, cool, hard hand on his shoulder. When he glanced over, Shiro had the audacity to look _amused_ at the interaction. He flashed Keith a dry smile before ruffling his hair and following Lance in.

_Traitor._

With Pidge and Hunk hot on his heels, Keith was left alone lingering beyond the door’s threshold. He glanced at his ticker again— _over three doboshes left—_ and groaned, trailing along in, as well.

As soon as he got a glimpse of the holoscreen, however, he immediately regretted it.

Purple light filled the bow of the bridge, Kolivan taking up the screen ahead of them, all masked-faced and unreadable, and Keith felt his stomach clench in irritation. If this is what Krolia meant by saying “ _It is time_ ” all vague and mysterious, Keith wanted _absolutely no part of it._

But the deed was done. And before Keith could turn tail and hurry back through the door, Kolivan’s mask was dematerializing as he spoke his name firmly. “Keith.”

Keith wanted to huff a breath and stalk away, but Pidge caught his elbow and held him in place with a stern look. He grit his teeth, scowling at the smallest paladin as he heard his own jaw click in irritation, pulling halfheartedly against her grip.

Pidge’s eyes were like steel behind the glint of her glasses, sharp and unwavering, and she tugged on his sleeve. Unwilling to let himself be manhandled by an actual _child_ , he shot her a dirty glare before stepping forward and joining the rank of the others of his own volition.

But as annoyed as he was, standing there under the presence of the Blade leader made him grow somber. Kolivan was still his superior, still his commanding officer, after all—and after a moment, Keith straightened his spine and ducked his head into a respectful nod, murmuring a polite, albeit half-hearted greeting. “Sir.”

Kolivan nodded in return, though as always, his expression was a mask in itself. “I am pleased to hear Krolia found you and the Castle safely,” he began without preamble. He took something out from offscreen, raising it into view: a small, rectangular device about the size of a matchbox, with the purple Marmoran crest in its center. He lifted an eyebrow. “I found your communication burner—you must’ve accidentally left it in the hangar for the jet you commandeered. We haven’t been able to get ahold of you for quintants.”

Against his better judgement, despite the anger hot in his chest, a pang of guilt tugged at him. Shame. “I—” he began, and dropped his head again into a nod. “I’m sorry. I know should’ve gotten approval before taking off, like that.”

Kolivan nodded, once, just a single dip of his head. “You should have.”

“And I—” Again, Keith broke off, wincing again. “I probably shouldn’t’ve ditched my comm before going.”

“Probably not, no.”

“And I should’ve actually finished the mission debrief before doing anything.”

“That would have been nice.”

“And I should’ve checked in.”

“Yes, Keith. You should have.”

And _that._

There was something in that. Something in those words that made Keith lift his gaze and finally meet Kolivan’s, because if Keith didn’t know any better, he’d say the Galran man sounded _worried._ His expression was foreign and open, gentle, one might even say, though it would be a far cry before Keith had ever thought he’d consider the Blade’s leader as such.

That ribbon of guilt curling around inside of him curled tighter. He’d never thought Kolivan one to _worry_ easily, always so meticulous and unwavering, focused and goal-oriented with the bigger picture in mind. There were no individuals in the Blade. There were units, and missions, and objectives.  Had he really… had he really been concerned? About _Keith?_

Keith banished the thought immediately. This was the Blade. This was the group that would abandon their own men for missing a rendezvous. Of course he hadn’t been.

Before he could stammer out some kind of explanation for himself, however, Kolivan was frowning and speaking again. There was an odd, foreign tone to his voice Keith was sure he’d never heard before. “I believe I… owe you an explanation.”

Blinking, Keith’s gaze flew to Krolia, who had her mouth set in a firm purse, watching Kolivan shrewdly.

Keith looked back to their leader, shaking his head. “You don’t need to—”

“Keith,” Kolivan cut him off, and Keith snapped his mouth shut. He held Kolivan’s gaze for a moment, nervous and uncertain, before nodding.

“…Alright.”

“Thank you.” Another breadth passed in silence, and it was a loud, deafening silence at that. “I do not regret,” Kolivan broke it, all too suddenly, “withholding Krolia’s identity and location from you. And I will not apologize for doing so.”

Annoyance, bitterness, irritation sparked slightly inside of him, but Kolivan’s words weren’t unexpected. “Noted,” he acknowledged.

The Blade leader sighed, long and drawn out. “I do owe you an apology, however. It was not an ideal situation, to cause you so much distress, but I did what I thought was best at the time. It would not do to let ourselves be sidetracked at such a critical stage of this war, but please understand, it…” Kolivan trailed off. “It was not a decision I made lightly, young one. Hard decisions must be made during hard times, and it is close to being the hardest time I’ve seen. We were not in a position to warrant such a distraction.”

And there it was: that spark of annoyance catching flame.

“She’s not a distraction,” Keith shot back, quick and sharp-tongued, “she’s my _mother._ She’s my family, some of the only family I’ll ever have, and you purposefully _kept her from me._ ”

“And you from her,” Kolivan acknowledged with a slight bow to his head, like he didn’t dare deny it. “I understand.” He hesitated, before his eyebrows drew together again, the hard lines around his mouth softening. “And I will admit, I had not considered the… extent of the pain it would cause, on either end.” His head shifted slightly as he looked from Keith to Krolia, then back. “In our culture, family bonds are a treasured thing, Keith. More important than almost anything else, to most.”

“Avkrod,” Keith murmured, and though the word was Galran, it felt right on his tongue. “So I’ve heard.”

(Numbly, in some distant part of his brain, he thought about how he’d never been able to catch on to Altean, despite how many times Allura had forced them to try. Maybe he’d have better luck with the Galran language. He already picked up a little bit during his time with the Blades, and that was just by exposure, not by study. He must have some kind of… genetic advantage, or something, helping him out. Like a head start, almost, predisposed to speak his mother’s tongue.

Maybe Krolia could help him learn it fully. They could—bond, or whatever. It could be… nice?)

Kolivan ducked his head in agreement, and Keith forced himself to be present.  “Yes. And perhaps it’s because I lost mine so many moons ago, or perhaps because of your human upbringing, but I hadn’t… considered the possibility that I was depriving you of something so intrinsic to our nature. And for _that,_ Keith, Krolia—I will apologize.”

Keith pressed his lips tight, not entirely knowing how to respond. From the corner of his eye, he caught Krolia dipping her head slightly in acknowledgement.

And then Kolivan was sighing again. “That being said, Krolia was in deep cover.” His voice had lost that softness, was steady and no-nonsense once more. “We couldn’t risk losing the advantage we’d obtained from her placement, had you decided to take an impromptu field trip to find her.”

“But why send me in at all?” Keith asked in return, not quite snapping but definitely a bit sharp. He fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest as eyes from all over the room fell to him, feeling—exposed, and defenseless. He bit it back, working his jaw. “If it was such an important mission, why send me in? Why extract her, why send _me,_ specifically, to do it? If you didn’t want the distraction?”

Kolivan sighed, shaking his head slightly. “Because it was time. Her mission had run its course. With our ranks so diminished, we needed as many agents as we could get. You were already distracted—you needed a change, or you would’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Keith got out, locked on Kolivan, now, “you don’t have the right to dictate what you think I _need._ That’s not your decision to make.”

“As your commanding officer,” Kolivan returned, sounding tired, “and the person responsible for keeping you _alive_ at the time, I’d like to respectfully disagree. Or do I have to remind you what nearly occurred at Naxela?”

It was amazing, how that single reminder, the name alone, could make a lead weight sit heavily in Keith’s gut. At his sides, his hands balled into fists. “ _Kolivan._ ”

“I have a new assignment for you,” the commander said then, a clear and obvious shift in topic that, normally, would’ve only shown to increase Keith’s annoyance with the Blade. Instead, that half-completed Garrison training of his reared its unwelcome head, and Keith found himself straightening. Pushing his own ire back and away, squaring his shoulders towards his CO and standing at attention, unclenching his fists, ready to receive his orders.

Maybe he’d used up too much energy on _aggression._ Maybe he was just tired. He wasn’t sure. He lifted his chin, nonetheless, and focused on Kolivan. “What is it?”

Kolivan hesitated, and though Keith would never be able to tell for certain, he could’ve sworn the Blade had exchanged a look with Krolia. After only a tick, Kolivan’s expression schooled into something unreadable. “We need a new ambassador between the Blades and the Voltron Coalition. The information transfers thus far have been… wholly inefficient. If we ever plan on rallying our forces and winning this war, there needs to be an open line of communication between us. All of us.”

And that… didn’t entirely make sense. Keith felt his eyebrows draw together, glancing at Krolia for a moment, whose face was schooled and untelling. He looked back to Kolivan, unsure. “Kolivan, I know I messed up, but you can’t just—I’m not…”

Kolivan frowned a little, the corners of his mouth tight and turned down. “This has nothing to do with your performance, Keith,” he assured. “It is not a punishment. It just so happens that this is a position we need filled, and you’re the agent with the closest relationship to Voltron, and in their closest proximity.”

But of course, _of course_ this had something to do with his performance. Of course this was a punishment. Keith would know—he’s certainly received enough of them, over the years.

He’d been annoyed with their leader, but he never imagined this. “You’re benching me,” he exhaled in disbelief, and shook his head. “You’re… you’re benching me?”

“It is what is needed, Keith,” Kolivan insisted. “I’m not benching you, so much as relocating you.”

“You’re pulling me from the field,” Keith denied, blinking, and there was an odd tone to it. He stepped forward, strangely desperate. “Look, Kolivan, I know I screwed up that last mission, okay, I do, but I—the Blade’s numbers are so low, you can’t honestly think that this is the best course of action? Pulling me out?”

“I can,” Kolivan said clearly, “and I do.”

Keith tightened his jaw and shook his head, fists clenching once again at his sides. “I’m a soldier,” he tried, “not a diplomat. I’ll be useless.”

“You will be playing a critical role in establishing the foundation of this Coalition.”

“I’ll be _stuck_ , Kolivan.” He gestured to the Castle around him. “What am I supposed to do here? I’m not a Paladin. I don’t _have_ a Lion to pilot. You seriously want me to just… sit around, playing telephone between Voltron and the Blades? While everyone else is out there, risking their lives, you want me to just… sit here, in charge of information transmission?”

Once again, Kolivan sighed. “My mind has been made up, young one. This is not a request, this is an order.”

“Permission to be frank, sir?”

Kolivan, again, lifted an eyebrow. “Were we not already?”

Keith grit his teeth harder. “This order is _bullshit_.”

To his surprise, it was Allura, not Shiro, that placed a hand to his shoulder and drew him back. “If I may,” she began, turning to Keith, “I think I… may have a solution that we can all find suitable?”

Keith forced his jaw to unlock, and he shook his head. “Princess—”

“Keith,” Krolia admonished, almost gentle, and when Keith shifted his glare towards her, she tilted her head slightly. “Perhaps you should hear her out?”

For a tick, a brief, fleeting moment, Keith wanted to snap at her to stay out of it. Wanted to remind her that this didn’t _involve_ her, except—

—except it kind of did, now, didn’t it? If they were going to try this whole mother-son-crash-course thing _,_ then it did involve her. His placement, his assignments—his _life._ She was involved in it, in all of it.

That would definitely take some getting used to.

Pressing his lips together tightly to hold back any sharp words that may try to escape, he nodded reluctantly, turning back to Allura. “What are you thinking?”

Allura squeezed his shoulder slightly before pulling her hand back and stepping forward further, to be in clear view of the room. And in that moment—in the way that she held herself, the way she leveled steady eyes at the team and Kolivan alike, the way her poise was unwavering—Keith was staunchly reminded that Allura, once upon a time, was royalty.

(They called her _Princess_ nearly as much as her given name, but it was as if using the title so casually had caused it to lose its meaning, lose its profundity. Then there were moments—moments like this—where it was suddenly very clear who she was meant to be. Raised to be a sovereign, raised to be a diplomat and a strategist and a peacemaker, for a race that wound up annihilated by war.

It was too bad, he thought, that her upbringing would never come to fruition. That no one would ever get to really experience a reign with her at the helm. He felt a rush of sadness for her, for her lost people. Allura would’ve made one hell of a queen.)

Her gaze landed on him again, and she offered a small smile, though there was something odd in her eyes. “I believe I may have a solution, Keith. A way you could be placed here with us, a liaison as Kolivan has requested, as well as… maintain your active role in the work being done. To simply get to the point, I… I propose you rejoin the rank of Voltron, as a Paladin.”

Something tightened in Keith’s chest at the words. That was—it was impossible. Why was Allura suggesting something that was impossible?

He ducked his head slightly, shaking it in dismissal as he felt a frown pull at his brow. “All the Lions are accounted for, Princess,” he reminded her, gentle but firm. “It’s great in theory, but it’s… it can’t happen. Voltron doesn’t need any more Paladins.”

Allura didn’t speak for a moment, and it took Keith a handful of ticks to look up at her again. She still wore that small smile, though now he could place that odd look in her eyes as something distinctly sad. “Upon my visit in Oriende,” she began, steady, “I came across types of alchemy I could… never imagine. Techniques even my father’s notes don’t explore. Techniques that, if done properly, could give us a great lead over anything Haggar could foresee—could give us a real advantage over the Empire.”

The overall noise level in the room hadn’t changed, but it suddenly felt all too quiet. Like everyone was holding their breath. After a beat of tense silence, Pidge took a hesitant step closer.

“Allura?” she asked quietly. “What are you saying?”

Allura dragged her gaze away from Keith’s to regard the Green Paladin, then looked over the Yellow, Red, and Black in turn. “I am saying….” she started, and while her voice was less steady than it had been, she held her shoulders straight as she regarded them. “I am saying I think that it may be time for me to take a step back. Attend to improvements on our equipment and Voltron’s capabilities, to honing my skills as an alchemist, rather than my skills as a Paladin.  Focus on using this new knowledge I possess from Oriende to give us the upper hand on a level that neither the Empire, nor their witch, can expect.”

There was a long stretch of silence, again, no one daring to speak.

Then Lance stepped closer, eyebrows drawn and eyes sad, but full of comprehension. “You want to step down so that I can have Blue back,” he concluded. “And that Keith can have Red.”

Allura ducked her head as if ashamed, eyes partially hidden by the curls of her hair. “I’m sure that over time, Keith would earn Blue’s trust just fine, Lance. I would never be so presumptuous as to _assume_ —”

“I’ll do it.”

Allura’s head snapped up and Keith blinked, trying to keep his eyes from bugging out of his head. “You _what?_ ” he found himself gasping.

Lance turned to him. “I’ll do it,” he repeated, as if it was the easiest thing in the universe to say. He looked between Allura and Keith, eyes determined and steady as a rock. “I’ll take Blue back, and Keith can have Red.”

Finally, Shiro found his voice, stepping closer as well. “Lance, didn’t you say Blue wouldn’t respond—”

“She will,” Lance cut their leader off, and there wasn’t a lick of doubt in his voice as he shifted his gaze. “She’ll take me back. I know she will, Shiro. I… don’t know how I know, but I know. I feel it.”

“I can feel it, as well,” Allura agreed, and though that was probably supposed to be comforting, Keith found himself growing more and more nauseated at the whole idea.

“And we _know_ that Red will take Keith back,” Lance continued, and Keith held up a hand.

“Wait,” he choked out, “everyone just—just _stop,_ for a second.” He turned to Allura, shaking his head. “You can’t _step down_ from being a Paladin, Allura. Not for my sake.” _Especially_ _not for my sake_. Not for someone who runs away when things get hard. Not for someone who couldn’t be counted on, for someone unreliable and impulsive as he was. He shook his head, trying to keep from sounding too piteous. “Princess, your _father—_ I mean, being a Paladin means so much to you—”

“It does,” Allura agreed, cutting his words off, still wearing that sad little smile. “It means… everything to me, to honor him by following in his footsteps. But my father would understand my decision. He is the one who taught me that sometimes we have to make sacrifices for our family, after all.”

Sacrifices. Like Alfor made for her. Like Krolia made for him. Both examples ached deep in his chest.

“Allura,” Keith said again, shaking his head, “you can’t—I’m not worth this sacrifice, Princess. I won’t let you do it.”

“You are as worthy as anyone else on this team, Keith.” And then Allura’s smile grew, just a fraction. “And to be quite frank with you, I’m… not entirely sure you get a say, here. My mind is made up. It has been, since Shiro confided in me that you still have a bond with the Red Lion.”

Desperate and incredulous and a little bit amazed, Keith turned to Shiro. “The Red Lion already has a pilot,” he insisted, and shook his head, hoping Shiro could see the glaring flaws with this plan. “It doesn’t matter if I still have a bond with her, Voltron has its Red Paladin.”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed, putting a hand on Keith’s elbow as if to steady him. “It does. You.”

Keith swallowed, stomach flipping. _No._ This was moving _backwards._ This was like taking two steps forward and seventeen back, Lance changing from Red back to Blue. After it had taken him so long to gain his confidence as the Red Paladin… “Lance—”

“Look,” Lance cut him off, and quirked an eyebrow. “No offense, but can you really picture your hothead trying to pilot Blue? Really _?_ My sweet, calm, patient, understanding Blue _,_ with your impulsive mullet at the helm _?”_

And— _no,_ Keith couldn’t, really, but Lance was also _missing the point entirely_.

Keith wasn’t worth this. He wasn’t worth this _._ He might not be dispensable _,_ as Shiro had so adamantly drilled into him, but he wasn’t good enough for this, for them to both sacrifice so much. He couldn’t let them.  That’s not what family does. Family doesn’t let each other move _backwards._ He didn’t know a ton about how families work, but he knew that, at the very least.

Keith grit his teeth together again, but Lance’s fingers curled further around his arm, and he forced that edge down. “Hey,” Lance soothed, “it’s okay. Really. I want to.” He lowered his voice, just a little. “If it means you get to stay here, with us—with _me_? Then I want to do it.”

Keith forced himself to take a breath. He wasn’t sure if he’d stopped breathing, this whole time, or if his heart had just been beating so quickly that he’d gone numb, but he forced air in and out of his lungs and felt a little bit more tethered, a little bit more real.

Lance looked over to Shiro, who was frowning in concern at the pair. “Lance,” he said gently, eyebrows drawn, “I want Keith home with us as much as anyone, but—” Shiro’s eyes flicked to Keith’s, apologetic, before shifting back to Lance’s. “You’ve more than earned your title as Voltron’s Red Paladin. You don’t have to give that up, we can find another way—”

“Shiro,” Lance began, and there was a smile tugging at his lips when he repeated the words, “I want to do it.”

Keith shook his head. “ _Lance—”_

“Look,” he cut Keith off, and looked between him and Shiro.  “I never wanted to leave Blue in the first place.  I did it because that’s what the universe needed, at the time. And I don’t mind changing again, if this is what the universe needs now.” _What_ we _need now._

There was a beat, and Keith thought back to that day—that day he woke Black up, after the others had failed to do so, the first flash of life in Voltron’s leading lion since Shiro had disappeared. That day Blue locked Lance out, and he could feel bursts of hurt through their Paladin bond when she’d allowed Allura in in his stead. That day Lance first came busting out of the hangar in Red, whooping about her speed while his eyes conveyed sadder remnants of rejection.

“And besides,” Lance continued, “I think we all know I was never meant to be Shiro’s right hand.”

Keith was going to shake his head. He was going to deny that _no,_ he deserved that position, he was steady and loyal to a fault, far more loyal than Keith had proven to be, and Lance would never consider abandoning ship like Keith had—

Lance shifted his hold from Keith’s elbow to lightly grip at his hand, and when he shook his head a little, Keith couldn’t find his words.

Still, he tried his best. “You—you’ve _earned,_ Lance, you… I don’t, I don’t— _you deserve…_ ”

“I was never supposed to be Shiro’s right hand,” Lance repeated adamantly, holding Keith’s gaze now, “I’m supposed to be _yours._ I think that’s why this arrangement happened when you were in Black. Because I’m your right hand, and you’re Shiro’s. It’s just how it is, and I’m okay with that.”

Keith shook his head. This wasn’t _right._ “Lance.”

“Keith,” he returned, and nodded insistently. “Stop worrying so much, okay? My bond with Red is stronger than it’s ever been, and I’m not doing this because I think _you’re_ the better Red Paladin, or anything. It would be different if I was offering to switch back because I didn’t think I could _do it_ , y’know? This isn’t that. I swear it’s not.”

And before Keith could get a word in, Lance’s eyes shifted to concerned, charcoal ones once more. “Shiro? What do you think?”

Shiro opened his mouth and closed it silently, a small line between his brows. “I… think this is up to the three of you.”

Lance lifted an eyebrow. “Well _you’re_ Voltron’s leader. I think you should have a say, don’t you?”

“I…” Again, Shiro’s mouth opened and closed, at a loss.

Keith shook his head, pulling his hand free from Lance’s. “I can’t let you do this,” he finally managed to get out, and felt his expression close off as he took a step back. Not a scowl per say, but something clipped and stubborn, and he glanced towards the princess. “I can’t let either of you do this. Allura, you can’t step down from Voltron—Lance, _you’re_ Red’s pilot. I’ll just—”

His gaze flicked to the holoscreen, where Kolivan still waited, observing the exchange with an unreadable expression.

He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. “I’ll just… be an ambassador, here, like Kolivan wanted. I’m not worth all this trouble.”

There was a beat of silence followed by a distinct, nasally sort of sound, and it took Keith a tick to realize Allura had just _scoffed_ at him. “Nonsense,” she dismissed, with a wave of her hand. “You’re far too valuable to be sitting aside, and I am sure Kolivan would agree.”

Taking his cue, Kolivan inclined his head in a nod. “You’re a formidable warrior, young one. Perhaps a bit headstrong,” he added, and lifted an eyebrow again, “a bit defiant, but _talented._ An incredible force against the Empire. Do not doubt that.”

 _Then why are you benching me in the first place?_ Keith wanted to snap at the leader, but froze at the thought. If Kolivan knew his strengths, believed in him like he claimed to, then why would he…?

Keith glanced to the side, searching Krolia’s expression. He remembered the non-look he vaguely picked up on between her and Kolivan, and he was more certain now than ever that it actually _happened_ , that it wasn’t his eyes playing tricks on him. And Krolia hadn’t said a word since asking for his patience, but her brows were drawn in severely, and her eyes were sharp as they watched the exchange. Sharp, but knowing. Unsurprised.

He wet his lips before speaking, following his gut. “Krolia?” he asked. “Did you… ask Kolivan to station me here? On the Castle?”

Krolia’s lips stayed pressed into their firm purse for a handful of ticks, before softening slightly at the corners. “I spoke with him,” she skirted, tipping her head slightly. “Him and the Princess. Before, while you were gathering the others. The idea may have been discussed.”

There was something heavy in his chest. _You don’t get to do things like that,_ part of him wanted to snap, but didn’t. Because that heaviness… wasn’t anger _._ So instead he sighed, shaking his head. “You didn’t need to.”

The look Krolia offered him, in a different light, in a different life, might’ve been reminiscent of a smile. “It wasn’t my idea alone, Keith,” she assured. “I wasn’t the one to suggest the reassignment. I understand that there is still a lot for me to learn, but I have already seen… far too much of myself, in you, to try and suggest something like that.” That careful, almost smile widened a bit. “While I’ll admit, I’m certainly not _opposed_ to pulling you from active Blade duty, I figured it wasn’t an idea you would appreciate, very much.”

He took a breath in. Held it, for a handful of ticks. Let it out. “Good instincts,” he murmured, because, well.  She wasn’t _wrong_.

Krolia’s expression softened a bit, and she said his name like a sigh. “Keith.”

He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the way it fell from her lips.

She stepped closer, shaking her head and growing solemn once more. “It is difficult to be separated from family, especially in times of war. I believe that’s something everyone here can attest to, by this point.”

Keith swallowed again. “Krolia, I…”

“Keith,” she said again, and gestured to the rest of the group, gaze drifting over their expressions. “I do not mean to meddle, and I understand it is not my place, but—if this is your family, your avkrod? Then this is where you ought to be. Don’t you agree?”

And Keith wanted to argue, because he ought to be wherever he could be most _useful,_ and that wasn’t Voltron—especially not if it meant losing Allura as a Paladin, or forcing Lance to switch Lions _again—_ but the words wouldn’t come.

(He remembered the terrible, gut-sinking, _helpless_ feeling he’d gotten when he learned what the white hole had done to the Castle. Broken oxygen regulators, all systems shut down, the team on the edge of death, floating aimlessly through the vast expanse of space, cold and lifeless and never to be seen again, and… Keith. Keith, on the other side of the universe, blissfully unaware of how close he’d come to losing them all forever.

He couldn’t even remember their last interaction, before that. One of those stupid debrief calls, probably, standing at Kolivan’s shoulder like a shadow, silent and hooded. Had he even spoken, during that call? Taken his mask off? Had they even known it was _him?)_

Nausea churned unpleasantly in his stomach, but the thoughts kept coming.

What was the last thing he’d said to Pidge, before she’d nearly suffocated to death? To Hunk?

When was the last time he’d hugged Shiro, or thanked Coran for his endless kindness, or consoled Allura about her fallen planet?

When was the last time he’d seen Lance smile? Heard him laugh or call Keith _mullet,_ or sling his arm over Keith’s shoulders casually because he knew— _he always knew—_ that Keith had a hard time initiating the contact himself, even when he longed so deeply for that warmth of connection?

He swallowed. “What—” Keith wet his lips, grasping at straws as he glanced back to Lance. “What about the bayard? The Altean broadsword?”

Lance’s lips twisted into a smirk, a ghost of that normal bravado shining through his expression, and Keith felt like he might keel over and die, right then and there, from love and appreciation and incredulity. “Princess?” Lance asked, turning to her and holding out a hand. “May I?”

Allura smiled slightly, summoning the Blue Bayard to her side and placing it in Lance’s open palm without question.

Lance closed his eyes briefly, concentrating, before there was a flash of light. And then—

And then Lance was gripping the sword, the same sword he’d wielded while sparring with Keith what felt like eons ago, blue instead of red.

Keith tried not to let the surprise show on his face at how _quickly_ the Blue Bayard responded to him, but the breath that hitched in his throat might’ve given him away. As grudging as he was to admit it, Lance and Blue had always had a stronger bond than Keith had had with Red, but—the Lions were one with their bayards, and it was startling to see firsthand evidence of how ready Blue appeared to take him back.

Selfishly, Keith wondered if the Red Bayard would respond to his touch as quickly as the Blue had to Lance’s.

Lance rotated his wrist, spinning the sword in a swift, practiced figure-eight motion before securing his grip on the hilt and offering a grin. “I told you—Blue’s gonna take me back. I feel it—I can feel _her._ And a little game of Lion Swap doesn’t make me any less worthy of Alfor’s sword,” he assured, and where it could’ve been boastful, Lance just sounded _sure._ Confident. “It’s not like I’ll suddenly have less ‘inner greatness’ just because I won’t be piloting Red, y’know? It’s not a big deal.”

Except… it was. It was a big deal. And Lance’s nonchalance about switching Lions as the sword faded away into the bayard’s resting configuration, and Allura’s willingness to sacrifice her spot as a Paladin? Those were big deals, too.

Dumbstruck, Keith took a shaky breath. “You guys… you’re really serious, about this.”

Allura quirked an eyebrow at him. “Did you think we were joking?”

“No,” he got out, sounding choked even to his own ears, “no, I just—I don’t. I don’t understand. You’d actually… you’d…” Keith’s voice was going, thinning out even as he spoke, glancing between Lance and Allura. He hitched in an unsteady breath, shoulders hiking to his ears. “For _me_?”

Outside of Shiro, no one had ever done something so… profoundly _kind_ for him, before. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to digest it all.

Allura gave him a small smile and nod, while Lance closed the space between them again. “‘Course we would, dummy,” he assured. “I told you we’d all take you back in a heartbeat, and I meant it. If you’d just swallow that stupid pride of yours and _let us.”_

Keith took a shaky breath in, holding it for a tick before releasing it, just as unevenly. “I thought Allura said I don’t get a say,” he tried weakly, which had Lance rolling his eyes.

“Well— _no,_ maybe not,” he acknowledged, “but. It’d at least be nice to not have you like, silently resenting us for the rest of our lives, right? Or resenting yourself because you think you’re unworthy or something—which is _dumb,_ by the way, and definitely something we’re gonna work on—so, just. Agree to let us do this for you. Yeah?”

Another breath, still just as uneven, made its way through his lungs. _You’d do all that for me?_  He couldn’t understand. “I—” he began, but some part of him knew that arguing would just lead to more back-and-forth, and Keith wasn’t dumb. He knew a corner when he was backed into one.

Surprisingly enough, this corner felt a lot like Red, warm and present in the back of his mind. She was encouraging, and real—not just some kind of phantom presence from _before_ , but fiery and alive. 

“If it’s any consolation, Keith,” Allura said gently, “it’s… not all for your sake. I really do believe honing my alchemic abilities will serve us greatly in our battles against Haggar. She is by far the Empire’s deadliest weapon, and if there is any hope of truly ending this war, there is no doubt in my mind that _she_ is the one we must be able to take down.”

And… Allura had a point, really. Thinking of it that way _did_ make this overwhelmingly profound thing a little bit easier to swallow. It was… it was for the good of the universe. Not everything that was good for the universe had to be at his own expense. He didn’t have to suffer for the universe to thrive.

 _Trust them,_ Red seemed to say, and it was so rare to get formulated words from the Lions rather than just feelings and impressions that his heart jumped and his chest swelled and his eyes began to sting.

Keith swallowed down the lump in his throat, doing away with the protests building there. “…Okay,” he ended up saying as he exhaled, and nodded, a bit numb. “I. Yeah. Okay.”

Lance brightened, and Allura, from over his shoulder, beamed. “Really?” they asked in tandem, and Keith swallowed again, nodding.

“If,” he began roughly, and cleared his throat. “If you’re both sure you’re okay with it. Really sure? Then… yeah.”

There was a beat of silence after that, and Keith could see Lance’s grin growing, but before anyone could say anything Keith’s feet were leaving the ground, strong arms looped around his waist from behind and hoisting him and Lance up.

“Oh man,” Hunk cried, spinning them in circles and nearly causing Keith’s boot to slam into Shiro’s face, “welcome back to the team, buddy!” He spun a few more times before slowing to a stop, Keith’s feet finding the floor again unsteadily, though Hunk’s arms didn’t release him, instead keeping him upright and smushed into Lance’s side.

“Like, _officially,_ I mean,” the Yellow Paladin continued, “you never stopped being—y’know? Just, gosh. I’m so happy you’re not leaving again. Seriously, man, you have no idea how terrifying it is to get stupidly cryptic messages from Kolivan about where you’re stationed and then complete radio silence for weeks at a time. And Lance, you’re just—god, man, you’re so great, I’m so proud of you, I’m seriously gonna cry? And, Allura—get your royal, magical self over here, c’mon, c’mere—oh, quiznak, now I’m crying, you guys—”

And that was all it took for the rest of the team to pile on, as well, and for what felt like the millionth time in the past however many vargas Keith found himself being squeezed to death by his friends, his family, warm and sound and unwavering.

Keith let himself relax into the group hug. His head was buried somewhere between Lance and Hunk, but he swallowed again and made sure to find Lance’s hand and Allura’s shoulder as he croaked out a shaky, “ _Thank you.”_

It was muffled, and quiet, and inadequate, because he owed them so much more than that, so much more than a pitiful _thanks._ But he’d never been good with words, so he hoped it was enough. He felt a cold hand muss up his hair at the crown of his head and heard a low chuckle from Shiro.

Lance, still squashed close by his side, turned and pressed his forehead to Keith’s temple. “We love you, okay?” he murmured. “Try to stop forgetting that.”

Eyes still stinging, Keith nodded, leaning closer. It had been so long, _so long,_ since anyone had told him that. _I think I’m in love with you,_ Lance had blurted, but that was different than this kind of love. Shiro implied it with every hair ruffle and shoulder squeeze, and every time he called him _otouto,_ but Keith flustered easily at the words and Shiro had understood, had taken to using them sparingly if only for Keith’s sake.

“Yeah,” he agreed, and when the embrace began to break, when they began to pull away, Keith quickly swiped a hand over his cheeks and wiped at the moisture there. He let his gaze drift over them, incredibly grateful to be so lucky, to be so blessed. “I love you guys, too.”

Shiro drew Keith into his side and gave a squeeze around his shoulders. Lance slipped his fingers through Keith’s, and Keith glanced down at where their skin touched. It was… somehow more intimate than the way Lance had held his hand earlier, fingers intertwined like this, and Keith only had a moment to feel a slight heat crawl up his neck before Lance was pressing a kiss to his cheek, quick but warm, and Pidge was gagging in front of them.

“ _Gross,”_ she coughed, clearly forced, and pounded a fist to her chest. “Disgusting, nasty—”

“Oh, shut your quiznak, gremlin,” Lance snapped, and Keith felt a smile tug at his lips. Wobbly and watery, but real, and he curled his own fingers around Lance’s hand.

“Pretty sure you’re still using that word wrong,” he teased, halfhearted, voice shaky.

Lance shifted his glare from Pidge, sending it towards Keith and narrowing his eyes. “Pretty sure nobody asked you, sweetcheeks.”

Keith felt his expression twist. “Try again.”

“Lovebug?”

“No.”

“Schnookums?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Sweetheart? Buttercup? Pumpkin? Honey muffin? Honey buns? Sugar pea? Dollface? Biscuit? Gum drop?”

Keith rolled his eyes, squeezing Lance’s hand, running his thumb along the back of Lance’s soft, well-moisturized knuckles.  “We’ll work on it.”

“Is it too late to cancel this relationship?” Lance asked, scrunching up his nose despite the way he tightened his grip. “I’d like a less emo subscription—preferably someone that lets me drown them in adorable pet names.”

Keith grinned, sniffling, chest warm, while rippled snickers cut through the air from the rest of the team. “Definitely too late,” he assured.

The scattered laughter that followed only cut off as someone cleared their throat. Kolivan.

Right. Because the leader of an elite Galran rebel organization was still in on this call. Of course.

Still, Keith couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, not when his chest was full of warmth and he was coming _home,_ really coming home, for the first time in his entire life.

“Not to interrupt,” Kolivan spoke up. “However, if that matter is settled, there is still more business to discuss.”

Allura cleared her throat as well, straightening once more. “Of course, Kolivan,” Allura assured, though a bright smile lingered on her face, “our apologies.”

Kolivan waved a hand vaguely in dismissal and sighed, turning slightly. “Now, Krolia, as far as your placement goes—”

“Your face looks better,” Krolia cut him off with a raised brow, and while Kolivan’s face dropped into a scowl as he brought a clawed hand to his left cheek, Keith merely glanced at her in confusion, eyebrows drawn. “It’s good to see that the swelling has gone down.”

Lance shot Keith a look, clearly at a loss. _Swelling?_ he mouthed, like a question, and Keith shrugged, shaking his head.

After a beat of silence, Kolivan narrowed his golden eyes, piercing. “…Yes,” he agreed, lowering his hand, “though I suppose it would please you to know that the soreness that came along with it has persisted.”

Krolia made an unimpressed sound, clicking her tongue. “Hm.”

“The medic believes there to be a small web of microfractures in my _mavlok_ bone.”

 “Microfractures?” Krolia’s lips twitched into a small smile. “That’s unfortunate. I was aiming for a more complete break.”

Keith almost choked.

The two Blades held each other’s gazes for a moment as Keith coughed his shock back, before Kolivan sighed. “We really do need to speak about your placement, Krolia.”

She ducked her head in agreement. “We do,” she agreed. “But I won’t be returning to Base quite yet. I’d like to put in a request for a short leave, given the circumstances.”

Again, seeming exhausted, Kolivan heaved a sigh. “How long?” he asked, which wasn’t an outright _denial. “_ We have much to debrief on, and there is a time-sensitive mission lined up we need to get someone on quickly. I would normally suggest sending another unit in your stead, however—there is no one more well-suited to this particular assignment than you are, given your knowledge of Ranveig’s research.”

Only paces away from Keith, Krolia’s shoulders straightened, the mild satisfaction fading from her features as her eyebrows drew together. Intrigued and concerned at once. “Objective?”

Kolivan hesitated, before shaking his head. “There is still too much we don’t know,” he admitted. “We won’t have all of the information for a few more quintants; our labs are still working on decrypting the files you obtained from Ranveig’s systems.”

Krolia’s lips pulled to the side, in thought, an oddly human expression. Chewing on the inside of her lip as she considered, as the gears turned almost visibly in her head.

Then her eyes flicked towards Keith, and Keith understood.

“Hey,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s okay.”

Just as stubborn as Keith, Krolia shook her head as well, though far more gravely. “I told you: I’ve already left you once. I don’t plan on doing it again.”

There was a tightness in his chest, an old ache, something tired and worn. “You’re not leaving me,” he assured despite it, or maybe in spite of it, “you’re doing your job. This is war—we all have to play our parts. It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

But his mother merely pressed her lips together for a moment before sighing again. “Keith.”

She was saying it a lot, his name. He couldn’t tell if it was for him to get used to hearing it, or for her to get used to saying it.

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated, then hesitated, wetting his lips. He lowered his gaze a little, unable to look her in the eye as he continued. “Besides, you’d… come back. It’s not like before, where you had to stay away so I wouldn’t get involved. I’m here. I’m involved. So you’d come back.”

A rush of air escaped Krolia, and she closed her eyes as it did. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Keith— _of course_ I would.”

There was so much sincerity in her voice that Keith had to believe her. He nodded, trying to will that tightness away, finding the assurance in her words. “Then you should do it.” Krolia’s eyes opened again at that, glinting and unsure, and Keith continued to nod. He pulled away from Shiro and Lance, stepping towards her slightly. “Krolia, you should take the mission. If you’re the best person for the job, then I think you need to.”

Krolia’s eyes flicked from him to Kolivan and back. Slowly, again, she shook her head. “I just got you back. I can’t lose you again, Keith. I _won’t_.”

“Hey,” he eased, and felt a faint smile tug at his lips, “you’re not losing me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Still, Krolia watched him carefully for a moment, silent and unsure.

Taking up his flank once more, Shiro put a hand to his shoulder. “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he assured, beaming at Keith, “we’ll take good care of him.”

“The best,” Pidge agreed, and there was a fierce gleam in Pidge’s eyes that made him feel incomprehensibly proud. Shiro aside, Keith had never had siblings. He wondered, briefly, if that’s what it felt like to be a big brother. Had Shiro ever felt this way about him? All proud and fond and protective?

Krolia glanced around at the group gathered one last time before looking to Keith again. He gave her a small nod, feeling the corner of his lips tug up ever so slightly.

Taking a breath at Keith’s silent approval, Krolia looked back to the holoscreen. “How long until the data’s extracted from Ranveig’s files? When do you want this mission started?”

Hearing the agreement in her words, Kolivan nodded, diverting his attention to presumably swipe at a different panel off-screen. “The labs estimate three, maybe four quintants—ideally, your unit would depart not long after.”

“Until then—”

“Yes, Krolia,” Kolivan sighed, and if he had pupils, Keith would’ve _sworn_ Kolivan just rolled his eyes at her. “You my take your leave at the Castle of Lions. So long as the Princess doesn’t mind, of course.”

Allura stepped closer to Krolia, smiling and ducking her head into a nod. “As I said,” she assured, looking between the two eldest Blades, “any agent of Marmora is welcome in this Castle. Friends and family, especially.”

Krolia returned the princess’s smile before looking to Kolivan once again. “I will return in three quintants’ time, then.”

Kolivan nodded his approval. “Very well. And Keith—”

Keith straightened, not expecting to be addressed so suddenly.

Kolivan had an odd expression on his face again. He nodded towards Krolia. “Keep an eye on her. She can be more of a _tenak_ than you, this one.”

 _Tenak._ Keith knew that one. Troublemaker.

Keith could feel the smile that tugged on his lips, while paces away, Krolia’s expression dropped entirely.

“ _Goodbye,_ Kolivan,” she said pointedly, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I’ll speak with you soon. Best wishes, Princess—Paladins.”

The Paladins bid their farewells, lifting a hand to wave him goodbye. Keith watched as Kolivan lifted a claw, presumably to swipe the video conference closed, and spoke up. “Wait!”

Kolivan glanced up again, raising an eyebrow.

Keith shifted on his feet. “I just,” he began, and locked in on Kolivan’s gaze, nodding, hoping he understood. “Thank you. For—well, not _everything,_ I guess, but. Most of it. Thank you.”

And Kolivan did something Keith never thought he’d see in a million years. He _smiled._ “We may not show it explicitly, young one,” he began, quiet and honest, “but there _are_ those of us here who care for you. It’s difficult, in a situation like ours, to separate ourselves from our duty, but—you had quite a few of us worried, when you took off. I am just glad to see that you are alright.”

Again, without warning, there was a lump forming in Keith’s throat. “Sorry,” he apologized, “I—I didn’t mean to worry anyone.” _Didn’t realize there was anyone there that_ would _worry._

“It is alright,” Kolivan assured, and gestured towards them all with his hand. “Everything worked out in your favor, in the end, which is what matters.”

Keith swallowed and nodded, feeling Lance’s fingers squeeze his once more, feeling Shiro’s hand still comfortably resting on his shoulder. “Yeah,” he agreed, and felt lighter than he had in years _._ “Thanks, Kolivan. Talk to you soon.”

Kolivan smiled again— _weird—_ before ducking his head into another nod and swiping his screen away. The holoscreen went dark for a few moments before blinking away entirely.

A beat passed in silence, and another. Then—

“Wow, Shiro,” Pidge commented, “you better step up your game—Kolivan’s coming after your title of overprotective Space Dad.”

On his left, Lance snorted, while on his right, Shiro sputtered, indignant, pulling his hand away sharply. “ _He is not—_ I’m not— _he’s_ not—” And then everyone was laughing, chucking, and Shiro’s face was going pink. “Well, you know what, fine—he’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead—”

The last five minutes of the conversation caught up to Keith, and he sucked in a sudden breath.

“Wait,” Keith interrupted, and while Shiro continued stammering, turned sharply towards his mother. “I’m sorry, Krolia? Did you—did you _break Kolivan’s face_?”

The snickering and chatter died instantly, the Paladins’ eyes going wide almost comically in tandem, turning to face Krolia as well.

She glanced around at them before shrugging and letting her lips curl in a slight smile. “No,” she denied, “of course not. Microfractures are much less severe.”

“But you—you _tried_ to break Kolivan’s face,” he clarified.

Again, Krolia merely shrugged. “He had it coming.”

And Keith couldn’t help it. A startled laugh burst its way out of his chest, bubbled out of his lungs, and then the people around him were laughing with him too, and Keith’s eyes watered and his chest ached and he felt lightheaded and he probably wasn’t getting enough air—

—but Krolia was smiling fondly at him, chuckling quietly, and Lance’s fingers had pulled free of his in order to wrap an arm around his waist and pull him even closer, and Shiro was still there by his side even after all these years, and Pidge and Hunk and Allura and Coran were steady presences that made him feel so warm and _sappy,_ and he let himself laugh with his friends, let himself feel light and loved and very, stupidly fortunate.

 

* * *

 

The first time the team saw him in his Paladin armor again, Pidge burst into tears and tackled him in a hug so fierce and sudden that it brought them both tumbling to the floor of the control room. Hunk sniffled quietly, Shiro and Allura gave him proud grins, and Lance pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, leaning into Hunk’s side, fluttering his lashes and crooning “ _my oh myyyyy, look at my man, he looks so good, don’t he?”_ in a terrible imitation of a lilting Southern drawl.

Keith made a mental note to thank Hunk for keeping his armor in such good shape, and to give Lance a real reason to swoon later that night.

 

* * *

 

The first time back in Red’s cockpit, sinking down to the pilot’s chair, felt like fire in his lungs and adrenaline in veins. His skin tingled with it, and as he sat forward and gripped the controls in his eager hands, Red’s screens lit up, letting out a roar so loud it could only be rivaled by the one the Blue Lion released one hangar away, presumably, upon Lance’s return.

There was a moment of guilt, hidden there, a moment that would’ve been so crushing had he been left to stew in it. But then Allura’s face popped up on the screen from the Castle’s main control deck, and she was beaming at them while she talked them through their training objective, and Keith could hear Lance howling in excitement as he flew out of Blue’s hangar, looping circles around where the Black, Yellow, and Green Lions waited, and Keith pushed the guilt aside.

Keith made a mental note to thank them again later, for everything they’ve done. Everything they’ve given him.

For now, though, there were voices beckoning him to join them, and Keith hesitated only a moment before thrusting Red’s controls forward, shooting out of the hanger as quick as a bullet.

He could feel the others through the Paladin bond, even Allura, and they were cheering as he raced toward them through the starlit expanse of space, and Keith let out his own whoop of joy as he felt Red’s speed, her life, all around him. The cry quickly turned into laughter that wracked through his chest and his shoulders, unrestrained and giddy.

He patted the dashboard fondly as he slowed to a stop. In the back of his mind, Red’s fire burned stronger than ever.

 

* * *

 

The first time forming Voltron again made Keith feel whole. Like he’d regained a part of himself that he’d lost somewhere, down the line, and hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

Over the comm, he could hear Krolia exhale in awe, and Keith made a mental note to give her a tour of the Red Lion when they returned. Admittedly, there wasn’t much to see, but he figured she’d appreciate it regardless.

It was odd, having someone to want to share these parts of his life with, someone that hadn’t been at his side for most of it. The other paladins, Allura, Coran—they’d all been thrown together from day one, had all been a part of this with him since the Blue Lion had taken them through that very first wormhole. He didn’t have to explain anything to them, they just _knew._ They understood.

It felt a bit childish at times, a bit like playing story-time, but Keith found himself eager to tell Krolia everything. It wasn’t about impressing her, or worrying her, or reminding her of all that she’s missed—he just wanted her to _know._ He wanted her to understand.

Absently, he wondered if this is what he’d been missing out on, all those years. If this is what it felt like to have a mother, what it felt like to be a son, and to have a family, and to find those bare threads of light tangled up in all the pain of the past and weave something beautiful out of it.

(Whatever it was, Krolia was learning with him, and Keith couldn’t be more grateful.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *opens word doc*
> 
> my brain:  
> finish the story  
> finish the story  
> finish the story  
> finish the story  
> finish the story  
> finish the story  
> finish the story
> 
> me: *adds one more chapter*


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, Keith finds his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is basically just straight fluff and like, a micron of plot at the end

“Grab that bag, would ya?”

Keith raised an eyebrow at Lance, shifting under his weight. “You can’t get it yourself?”

Lance moaned, forever oh-so-dramatic, from where he was sprawled over Keith.  “Caaan’t,” he whined, long limbs splayed wide to stretch, digging his nose into Keith’s collarbone. The soft puffs of Lance's breathing tickled against his skin. “Can’t move. Too comfy. Still sleepy.”

Keith rolled his eyes, shifting Lance in his lap just enough to allow him to retrieve his static-filled arm from under him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mmmmm, but you love me.”

“I never said that.”

“It’s been heavily implied.”

“Hmph.”

Keith reached for the bag nonetheless, straining under Lance’s weight, and managed to catch the fabric between his fingers. He pulled it closer, depositing it on the couch next to them. “Here.”

“Open it.”

Keith snorted, shifting again to retrieve his other arm from under Lance, who just used the newly vacated space to nestle in closer. “Is this what dating you entails?” he asked. "Getting bossed around while you lay on me and make my limbs fall asleep?"

Lance smiled against his neck. “Just trust me.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith looped his arms around Lance, reaching to loosen the drawstring with his fingers behind his back. He reached into the mostly-empty bag, pulling out something hard and vaguely rectangular.

He felt his eyebrows draw together close as he tossed the bag aside, turning the object over in his hands. “What…?”

Lance grinned, shifting himself around and reaching to snatch it from Keith’s grip. “Smile!” he crowed, and Keith frowned deeper, utterly confused, glancing at him uncertainly.

Lance was beaming, though, with that thousand-watt grin of his, hair rumpled from their nap and cowlicks like crazy, and Keith almost couldn’t breathe at the sight.

There was a soft _click,_ a flash of light, and then—

—then there was something coming out of the bottom of the object, a piece of cardstock paper with a gray box on it, surrounded by a white border, and realization dawned on Keith.

It was a camera. A really, really old camera.

Lance sat up straighter, excited, pulling the polaroid out from the bottom and beaming at Keith as he fanned it out. “Well? What do you think?”

Keith blinked, eyes trailing on the developing photo. “It’s a camera,” he said intelligently.

Lance snorted, drawing a leg up beneath him as he shifted off of Keith’s lap. “Very good, Keithy-boy. Proud of you.”

“Where the hell did you get a _camera_?”

Lance grinned again, looking at the photo for a second before continuing to fan it through the air. “Y’know that weird Earth store we found at the space mall?”

Keith nodded.

“Well, there was this one planet we went to for one of the air shows—I told you about those, right? When that evil worm thing moved into Coran’s head?” Keith nodded again, looking at the camera with something like awe, and Lance continued. “Right, well! One of those planets that we went to had this little hut kind of thing—a _kiosk,_ if you will—with a bunch of Earth stuff there. Dunno how they got it, since Earth hasn’t had contact with alien life, like, _ever_ —well, besides Krolia _,_ and those scouts, apparently? But! They had this camera! And I _had_ to get it, Keith, I just had to.”

Keith suppressed a smile, because as much fun as it was to gripe about, there was something so inherently _soothing_ about listening to Lance ramble. “Obviously,” Keith agreed, very seriously, trying to keep his tone even, “it would’ve been a crime if you hadn’t.”

Lance’s eyes narrowed and his lips drew in quickly from grin to pout, poking Keith in the side with a sharp finger. “Don't be mean to me, I'm sensitive. Besides - it’s for _you_. I got it for you _._ ”

“You…” Keith blinked, frowning again. “You what?”

That had been so long ago. That had been shortly after he’d left for the Blades full-time. Had Lance… had Lance known…?

Lance rolled his eyes, the pout fading and lips quirking up at the corners again. “Well, yeah.” He shifted, cheeks pinkening slightly. _Cute._ “I saw—you know, when Hunk would go in and clean off your suit sometimes, I went with him, and you have nothing going on in your room? Like there’s nothing there. And that’s not bad, or anything,” he added quickly, as if worrying he’d offend him, “y’know, minimalism is rad, and all, but I figured—maybe you’d like to, I dunno. Make it homier? When you came back?” He lifted a hand to brush through his hair nervously. “And now you’re back, so. I wanted to give it to you.”

Keith’s breath left him in the shape of his name. “Lance _._ ”

“I know,” Lance continued, looking down, now, smile fading, “it’s not a lot, you probably think it’s stupid and you might not even _want_ —”

Keith brought a hand up to his face, tangling his fingers in Lance’s sleep-mussed hair. “Lance,” he murmured, because _of course Lance had known he’d come home_.

“If you don’t want it, don’t feel like you need to—need to use it, or anything, I just thought—”

“ _Lance._ ”

Lance swallowed audibly, cutting his own words off and catching Keith’s eyes again. “Mhmm?”

“I love it.”

Lance brightened, but only a little, as if trying not to get his hopes up. “Yeah?”

Keith smiled, nodding. “Yeah.”

“For realsies?”

Despite his efforts, Ketih’s smile widened further. He rolled his eyes. “For realsies,” he agreed.

Lance beamed at him, leaning his cheek into Keith’s hand before vaulting himself forward and attacking Keith’s face with his mouth, pressing his lips to any inch of skin he could, short pecks as he toppled them both down to the couch once more. Keith laughed in surprise but played his part, curling his arms around Lance and holding him close, sighing into it when Lance’s mouth finally landed on his.

Lance’s lips were— _warm,_ where they touched, smooth and gentle and warm, and when they parted slightly Keith just tilted his head to slot himself closer. Lance’s tongue brushed across his mouth and it was like electricity sparking through his skin, shaking through his nerve endings, and when he parted his own lips in return, Keith finally understood what everyone always said about kissing someone and just  _melting._ It was nothing like Keith had ever experienced, as Lance’s tongue slipped into his mouth, gentle but confident, and all he could think about was how he was dissolving under Lance’s weight, under his touch. Lance would have to pull away, soon, because Keith would be reduced a puddle.

He broke the kiss only after a long moment, limbs still tangled together, and looked towards the photo Lance had taken. He tugged at Lance’s hand, which was still gripping the photo between his fingers, trying to get a closer look. Lance pressed a kiss to Keith’s jaw before resting his head on Keith’s shoulder, studying the photo as well.

The picture itself was off-centered and not-yet fully developed, but Keith could make out Lance, sprawled comfortably on top of him with a bright grin, sleep-curled hair sticking up where his head rested against Keith’s chest. Keith, for his part, wasn’t even looking at the camera, eyes for Lance only. His arms were around Lance’s waist, and he looked so, _so_ fond, despite the confused little crease between his brows, and Keith felt his own cheeks growing warm at the sight.

On top of him still, legs twined together, he could practically hear Lance frowning as he poked picture-Keith’s face. “You’re scowling at me. We need to take another one.”

“No!” Keith protested immediately, embarrassingly fast, and snatched the photo from Lance’s hand. The more it developed, the more that embarrassing fond look on picture-Keith’s face refined. The brighter picture-Lance's grin got. “No, I—I like this one.”

Lance shifted, turning slightly to rest his chin on Keith’s chest and peer up at him. “You do? You’re not even looking at the camera.”

His cheeks growing even warmer, Keith nodded his head. “Yeah. I do. And I’m not _scowling_ at you, I’m—”

He broke off, unsure of _what,_ exactly, he was.

Lance just manhandled Keith’s arm to look at the photo again, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, before pressing his forehead into Keith’s chest and letting out a small laugh. “Oh my god.”

Feeling self-conscious, Keith shifted slightly. “What?”

Lance just giggled again, poking Keith in the side. “Keith, you’re  _soft._ You said you weren't but you _are_. You're so soft.”

He was… soft? He blinked, then he frowned. “Are you... calling me fat?”

“Oh my _god,”_ Lance said again, low and amused, and shook his head. “Keith. Honey. Butternut. Sugarpea.  Dollface. Honey bunches. My intergalactic Iron Man. My half-alien _amor_ —”

“—still no, to _all_ of the above—”

“—why would I be calling you fat? You have, like, _eight visible abdominal muscles._ You could crush me between your thighs and I would _thank you._ You are not fat.”

Keith covered his face with his free hand, groaning, his skin hot to the touch. Because, _apparently,_ dating Lance meant being bombarded with embarrassing, unfiltered thoughts without warning.

(It was going to kill him. Lance was going to kill him, and then he’d be dead, all of of this would've been for nothing. He wouldn’t last the month, if Lance kept on saying things like that.)

Lance shifted on top of him, prying Keith’s fingers away from his face. “And even if you were, there would be nothing wrong with that. But that’s not what I—you’re not soft because you’re fat, you’re soft because you’re, you’re—” He paused, successfully yanking Keith’s hand away from his face, and looking down at him. “You’re like. Gooey. On the inside. And it’s adorable.”

Keith scowled, despite the way his neck was hot and his ears were hot and his cheeks were so hot he thought he’d explode. “I am not _gooey._ ”

Lance simply grinned, poking him in the cheek. “You are. You’re like all tough and stuff on the outside, like a porcupine, but inside you’re just a big ol’ melty marshmallow.”

Keith groaned, a low, strangled kind of noise, fumbling for one of the couch’s throw pillows to hide his face. Or smother himself. Whichever came first, honestly.  He had a reputation to uphold.

“Oh no you don’t,” Lance denied, pulling the pillow away. “You can’t suffocate yourself to get rid of me. That’s not how this works.”

Keith raised his eyebrows, still flushed, but trying to ignore it. “Are you going to stop making fun of me?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “I’m not making fun of you,” he argued, “I’m _teasing_ you.”

“Is there a difference?”

Lance scoffed. “Of course. Teasing includes oodles of affection. And for the record, no, I’m probably not going to stop.”

A sigh. “Of course not.”

Lance rested his hand back down to Keith’s shoulder, and Keith shifted his arms, tucking him closer. He never pictured he could have this. He’s never known he could _feel_ like this. It almost felt illusory, like it was some kind of pipe-dream made up in his head, while at the same time, Keith had never felt more real. More anchored. 

“I don’t mean to be,” he murmured after a stretch of silence, without really meaning to. He cleared his throat, awkward. “Um. Porcupine-ish, I mean. I don’t mean to be.”

He could feel the rumble of Lance humming against his chest. “I know,” he acknowledged. “It’s okay.”

“I’m—I’m working on it.”

Lance squeezed him around his waist, nodding into him. “I know. You’re doing good, Keith.”

Keith nodded, breathing out through his nose. He let a beat pass in comfortable silence. “ ‘m still not _gooey,”_ he grumbled, finally, and Lance laughed in his arms.

“You’re _totally_ gooey.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am _not.”_

“The gooiest.”

“Shut up.”

Lance paused, and for a moment, Keith worried he’d actually taken the words seriously. But then Lance shifted again, folding his arms on Keith’s chest and pillowing his head on them. “You seriously like the camera?”

Try as he might, he couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at his lips. “I told you—I love it. And I know just what to do with it, too.”

Lance hummed again, but Keith could see his mouth widen into a soft smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed. “Wanna help me?”

“Always.”

 

* * *

 

 

Late that night, Keith scanned over the photos he’d arranged on the wall by his bed, his eyes prickling.

_Pidge and Hunk sitting across from each other, each tinkering with some elaborate piece of scrap metal and tools strewn everywhere, but beaming at the camera with bright eyes._

_Shiro behind the kitchen island, a bowl of goo nursed in one hand and a spoon lifted halfway to his mouth, eyebrows drawn and mouth half open, completely unprepared for the photo and head tilted confusedly._

_Allura, smiling shyly as Lance had one arm thrown around her shoulders from one side, beaming, with Hunk at the other._

_Pidge on Keith’s back, hunched low to rest her chin on his shoulder, wrapped around him like some kind of koala and squeezing him tight enough that his face looked a little red and a little pinched._

_Coran and Hunk in the kitchen, faces distressed with what looked like three smoking, charcoal logs on the tray in front of them._

_Him and Shiro, side-by-side, with Shiro's prosthetic slung around his shoulder only to put two fingers up, creating bunny ears behind Keith’s head._

_Him and Shiro, side-by-side, Keith shoving Shiro away by the face, both of them laughing unhindered._

_The whole team, gathered together and smiling, off-center and with Hunk and Shiro’s heads cut off slightly, because there was no way to set a timer on polaroid cameras but Keith had wanted to try for a photo with everyone, anyways._

_Him and Krolia, a little awkward but happy regardless, with Krolia’s head tilted just enough to rest her cheek on Keith’s hair, a soft smile tugging at her lips while Keith leaned into her side._

_Him and Lance, looking sleep-rumpled and happy, with Lance sprawled out on top of him and grinning brilliantly at the camera, and Keith looking down at him, fond and soft and in love._

He touched the photos, one by one, and smiled.

It was good to be home.

* * *

 

 

The image swam before her eyes in shades of purple, the projection as dynamic as an ocean at unrest. She held her tongue at bay, observing carefully the scene playing out in front of her. The distorting sounds, the fuzzy edges aside, there was no denying what she was seeing.

It was _wrong._

This was not the _plan._

She tightened her jaw, feeling the power build in her fingertips in irritation. She watched the image shift further away from sharpness, further away from clarity, could feel the resistance from the other end of the connection. Unaware and defiant nonetheless. She would have to act soon if she ever wanted this plan to succeed.

“We’ve arrived at the coordinates,” the general said at her right, “but we can’t go any further without losing power.”

Haggar waved her hand through the image, dispelling the magic that had kept it in place. She lifted her head to face front again, feeling the quintessence ignite in her limbs, feeling it shine through her marks as they approached their destination.

She’d have to rework the whole plan, with this new turn of events. She’d have to find a way to get rid of him, again. The plan didn’t _work_ with him there.

Still, she leveled her gaze at the expanse of white filling their windows, dauntless and hungry for _more,_ relishing in the faint rushes of distress reaching her from the other side of the connection _._

“Stay on course,” she ordered, because after so many lifetimes searching, she was finally there. The rest could wait, because she had finally _found it._

Oriende.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp.... we made it, friends
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone that stuck with me and took the time to read this fic!!! I started it kind of on a whim after season 5 aired because I had a lot of feelings about keith and here we are literally one entire year later and I still have a lot of feelings about keith, but now I have 3 more seasons of canon to draw from and so I'm really excited to keep this going in part two!!! 
> 
> And this is officially part of a series, so you can totally go subscribe to it for when part 2 starts getting uploaded, which will be titled Bad Moon Rising (bc I love me some creedence clearwater revival, let's be real, and also because part 3 is going to be titled Have You Ever Seen the Rain and the songs fit _so well_ with what I have planned for each part???) so anyways yeah that's happening!!! with actual plot this time around too so that'll be fun. I'll take a bit of a hiatus on this to finish getting the skeleton of the story done, but I already have the first 2 chapters or so fleshed out, so it shouldn't be too much of a wait :) 
> 
> Wow sorry this got so long! Just! Thank you!!! All the feedback was incredible and the comments kept me going when I couldn't find inspiration and so I'm just super super grateful 
> 
> Happy Monday lovelies! Hope you enjoyed!


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